


Measure of Happiness

by writeonclara



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Action, Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Humor, M/M, Romance, Roommates, Slash, Slow Build, Starfleet Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:27:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeonclara/pseuds/writeonclara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Spock chose Starfleet over the Vulcan Science Academy, he had not anticipated cohabiting with the most illogical, irrational, emotional human he ever met.</p>
<p>On the flip side, Jim never asked for a Vulcan chaperone, especially one as snotty as Spock, son of Sarek.</p>
<p>A Starfleet Academy AU in which Spock adapts to human life, Jim learns very, very quickly never to play a prank on a Vulcan, and there are far too many people after Jim Kirk's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Now translated to Chinese by [Chloe8685](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Chloe8685) [here](http://chloechloeoe.lofter.com/post/403e18_7bec604). Thank you so much for your hard work, Chloe! \o/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally titled Two Worlds Colliding.

“You’ve been staying at the embassy, correct? I’m sorry it’s taken us this long to get you situated at the Academy. I tried to get you a private room, but unfortunately there are none available at the moment,” said Captain Christopher Pike. He didn’t shuffle his papers or fidget like most of the other human instructors Spock had met the past seven days; rather, he sat straight and looked Spock in the eye. 

This was just the second time Spock had met Captain Pike, but his father never spoke negatively about him. In fact, although Sarek would not go out of his way to compliment someone, it was clear that he held Captain Pike in high regard. Spock could see why.

“You’re on the waiting list. We do have a room for you, though it’s not exactly--ideal. For the time being, we’ll need to put you with a roommate.”

Spock nodded once in acceptance. “His name?”

“He’s in the command-track,” said Captain Pike, breezing past Spock’s question as if he hadn’t heard it at all. Spock lifted an eyebrow. In the short time he had known the captain, he had already determined that the man was straightforward and too the point. Prevarication seemed out of character. The logical conclusion, then, was that Captain Pike was nervous about something. Due to their topic of conversation, it was likely the ‘something’ to be his new roommate.

“His intention is to become a captain in three years.” Captain Pike gave an odd, disbelieving little laugh, but then contradictorily said, “He’ll do it, too, if only to say ‘I told you so’.”

“I understand,” said Spock.

“Do you?” Captain Pike asked, shaking his head. “I don’t think so. You will soon, though.”

He stood and handed Spock a packet. “This has the code to your room and the standard welcome packet. Normally, a counselor would go over everything with you, but I’m confident that you likely already know far more than any of our poor counselors do.”

Spock took the packet, standing as well. He made to leave, sensing a dismissal.

“Oh, and Spock?” Spock turned back to Captain Pike, lifting an eyebrow. Pike smiled, and he sounded somewhat fond when he said, “Whatever you do, don’t listen to your new roommate. And _don’t_ believe anything he says. Hell, just try not to even speak to him at all, all right?”

“It is irrational for me to live with a person with whom I cannot communicate,” Spock said.

“Just trust me on this.”

“Yes, Captain,” said Spock, and left.

This was how Spock ended up in front of the door to room 3F 121, with several bags from the embassy at his feet and a passcode that did not work. He had no reason to believe that Captain Pike would issue him an incorrect code, and yet. Setting the one bag he was still carrying down, he quickly bypassed Starfleet’s security locks and pulled up the door’s programming. Lines and lines of intricate code greeted him. It was--sophisticated. It took Spock a whole five minutes to unravel his new roommate’s algorithm, and another five minutes to successfully overwrite it.

Spock was conscious of a pang of satisfaction when the door finally slid open, but stopped mid-step when a pair of vibrant blue eyes smacked him square in the side. Spock had only seen a blue like that once, when his transport from Vulcan approached Earth.

“How did you get past my security loc-- _oh_.” The man’s face cleared of confusion, taking in his ears. “You’re a Vulcan. Pike didn’t tell me you were a Vulcan, crafty bastard.”

Spock stiffened. Logically he knew that he would not completely escape prejudice on Earth. He just hadn’t anticipated being roomed with a xenophobe. “If you have a problem with my heritage, then I will put in a transfer request immediately.”

“Problem with your heri--what? No, no, jeez, sorry, that came out all wrong.” The man stood up, lifted his hand as if to offer the standard human greeting, then thought better of it and held it up instead, attempting the ta’al. He was surprisingly inept at it, but nonetheless Spock appreciated the gesture. “Jim Kirk.”

Spock lifted his own hand. He found he was having some trouble associating this man with the intricate coding in the door’s security. “I am Spock, son of Sarek.”

“Well, Spock, son of Sarek, what are you in for?”

Spock puzzled over this question, first getting stuck on the preposition at the end, then the one right before it. “I am ‘in’ because I was assigned to this dorm,” he tried.

Kirk laughed, even though Spock had not been joking. “No, I mean, what’s your track?”

It appeared that Kirk was attempting to engage in the human practice of ‘small talk.’ Spock went to the free bed, setting his bag down. The room was small, but not uncomfortably so. A couch took up one corner and a desk with two chairs the other, with just enough space for his meditation mat.

“I am studying Computer Sciences.”

When Spock did not press for details about Kirk’s life, Kirk said, “Oka-ay. I’m on the command track.”

“I am aware.”

“Right.” Kirk coughed a little. “I see we’re off to a good start.”

Spock turned to him, folding his hands behind his back. “Although we are currently forced share a living space, it is not required that we socialize. Vulcans value privacy. I ask that you not continue in your attempts to pry.”

Kirk’s eyes widened, and then abruptly narrowed in anger. “Oh, I see. All right then, have it your way.”

Spock nodded, satisfied at Kirk’s acquiescence. If Kirk respected the Vulcan need for solitude, cohabitation would be practicable, if not satisfactory.

* * *

Jim, on the other hand, was decidedly not satisfied. It wasn’t that Jim automatically expected everyone to like him; contrary what some people might think, Jim did not have an ego the size of the moon. He just didn't expect for people to automatically _dislike_ him. So far at Starfleet Academy he was batting two for four. First Uhura, now Spock. At least Bones and Gary didn't hate him on sight. 

It wasn’t that Jim was really sensitive to what people thought about him--for the most part, he was fine with letting people draw their own conclusions based on his name or his past--but it stung a little to be hated before first impressions could even really be made. It made him feel nine again, meeting his mother’s new boyfriend for the first time.

Well. At twenty-five, Jim really didn’t have the patience for that kind of bullshit. He got up and left the room to find Pike. They needed to have words about Pike saddling him with a Vulcan chaperone, especially one as snotty as Spock, son of Sarek.

“Deal with it,” said Pike, when Jim burst into his office.

“I’m not going to have the Ambassador of Vulcan come down on my head because some bratty human doesn’t want to room with his son. It’s not worth it,” said Pike, when Jim argued his point.

“Get out of my office,” said Pike, when Jim resorted to whining.

“Fine,” said Jim, straightening his shoulders. He tried the most effective tactic his mom used on him. “I’ll have you know, however, I am very seriously disappointed in you.”

“Duly noted,” Pike said, cheerfully. “Now go away.”

Jim went away.

* * *

That evening, after thoroughly examining the science labs and finding them lacking, Spock made his way back to his dorm. He got so far as lifting his hand to punch in his code when Kirk spoke from in the room:

"I don't know man. He's just so weird! I mean, okay, he's a Vulcan and all, but it's like he took one look at me and decided that I'm not worthy enough to breathe the same air as his."

"Pointy-eared hobgoblin," said an unfamiliar voice. Spock took a step back.

“Is he really that bad?” asked a third voice that Spock also did not recognize. “I’ve seen him in the computer labs and he seems like an okay kind of guy, for a Vulcan. Maybe it’s just you.”

“Shut up, Gary,” said the second voice, identifying the third voice. 

“It’s just that he’s the only Vulcan in Starfleet, you know? Must be tough.”

“He doesn’t need your pity,” said Kirk, which was accurate. “Besides, it’s not like I went up to him and said ‘hey, you, get off of my planet.’ I even did the Vulcan salute thingy. He just told me to stop talking to him and mind my own business, or something along those lines. Only with more syllables and synonyms, since he’s Vulcan.”

“Lay off the obscure ancient musical references,” said the still unknown third voice. “To be fair to the guy--Vulcan--you’re _real_ nosy. Why don’t you put in a transfer request?”

“I can’t, unless I have a ‘really good damn reason,’ says Pike,” Jim said with a sigh.

“All right,” the second voice said, “Suck it up and stop complaining, then.”

Kirk laughed. “You’re a real friend, Bones. Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

Spock withdrew from sight, waiting as the three men pushed each other out of the room before entering himself, unseen. Alone in their dorm, Spock pulled up every file about James Tiberius Kirk he could find. Most of the information he found was public knowledge. George Kirk sacrificed himself and saved eight hundred members of his crew. Winona Kirk was an engineer on board the USS _Archer_. Kirk had a brother who lived on Deneva with his wife. 

What was unexpected was the string of juvenile criminal records Spock found when he investigated a little further. He did not understand how someone as unstable as Kirk could be admitted into an elite institution such as Starfleet Academy. Nor did he understand why Captain Pike would deem him a suitable roommate for Spock.

Interestingly, there was a gap in his file from ages ten to thirteen. Every one of Spock’s attempts to uncover the missing information met a dead end. Kirk’s criminal behavior began at age fourteen, indicating that whatever events transpired during this period of time was a cause that led to this effect.

Spock closed the file and opened a new communication channel.

“Spock!” Amanda greeted, pleased. “I’m glad you called. What time is it there?”

“0200 hours.” At his mother’s slight frown, he added, “As you know, mother, Vulcans do not require as much rest as humans.”

“I know,” said Amanda, with a small sigh. She was smiling again in an instant. “Well? Tell me about Starfleet.”

"I find--" he paused, somewhat uncertain on how to logically explain his time on Earth. "I find humans to be irresponsible, excessive, and overly emotional."

Amanda quirked a wry grin. "You really know how to make a woman feel special."

Spock said nothing, aware that the had unintentionally offended his mother but that the descriptors were applicable to her as well. He couldn’t take it back to make her feel better, but he also did not want her to feel insulted. Instead, he settled on speaking a truth he knew would appease her:

“I hypothesized that because I grew up with a human mother, I would be able to adjust to living amongst humans. Now that I have been on Earth for a complete week, I see that I was in error. You are clearly a superior specimen by comparison.”

Amanda’s smile softened. “There are other good humans out there. We’re just different from Vulcans. Is there a particular irresponsible, excessive, overly emotional human you’re referring to?"

“Those adjectives can be applied to the majority of humans; however, the man with whom I cohabit is the embodiment of illogic.”

Although his mother had adopted the Vulcan way when she married Sarek, she never could completely suppress her emotions. She frowned, worried. “If he’s making you uncomfortable, you should ask Captain Pike to change rooms.”

“I have taken that into consideration. However, I believe that Captain Pike had a reason for assigning him with me. I will maintain residence for a month and request a transfer if he proves to be intolerable.”

“If you’re sure,” said Amanda, still concerned.

“It will be a social experiment.”

“Social experiment,” repeated Amanda. “Well, as long as you don’t use that as an excuse if everything goes pear-shaped.”

“It is impossible for future events to assume the dimensions of produce,” Spock said.

“It’s a human expression,” said Amanda, smiling brightly. “Get some sleep. I love you, son.”

Spock lifted his hand in the ta’al in response and ended the transmission.


	2. Chapter 2

At 0331 hours, there was a heavy crash just outside room 3F 121, jerking Spock out of his meditation. A moment later, the door swished open, and Kirk tumbled into the room.

“Still up?” Kirk asked, sitting on the edge of his bed and hiking a jean leg up to unlace his boot. When Spock didn’t immediately answer, he snorted. “Oh, that’s right. ‘Don’t talk to me.’ Never mind then, carry on being a wall.”

Spock’s eyebrows furrow slightly. “I am not a wall,” said Spock.

“Coulda fooled me.” Kirk worked on his other boot, not even glancing up from his boot.

Spock decided not to bother correcting this, since Jim was clearly inebriated. On his second night on Earth, Spock had mistakenly wandered into a bar in search of a late night establishment that served vegetarian meals. Two minutes later he hurried back out, having come to two rapid conclusions: Humans clearly did not value intelligence since they preferred to suppress it with intoxicants; and Vulcan metabolism had its benefits. He went the night without food.

“Vulcans do not require as much rest as humans,” said Spock. “Humans, however, need eight hours of sleep for optimal functionality.”

“Thank you, Mother. Considering I don’t need to function until tomorrow afternoon, optimally or not, I think I’m safe.” He chucked his boots to the side and sent his leather jacket flying after them. Spock didn’t respond. Jim pulled off his shirt.

Darkened melanin made humans a fascinating golden color, Spock noted clinically, then turned to face the wall before Kirk could take off any more articles of clothing.

For the most part, Spock and Kirk successfully avoided each other during the day before classes. Spock had several experiments that required the majority of his attention in the beginning phases, while Kirk hung out with Bones and Gary. They only saw each other right before bed, and one time at the cafeteria. 

During that lunch, Spock sat at one of the empty tables, as per usual. This afternoon, however, the only empty one available was in the middle of the cafeteria. He took it anyway.

Over the din, he heard the familiar voice of Kirk’s friend say, “Hey, isn’t that your weird roommate?”

He looked up, immediately catching and locking eyes with Kirk. _The most beautiful blue marble you can imagine._ He frowned slightly, wondering why the 20th century astronaut quote came to mind. Kirk was holding a tray, flanked by his friends Dr. Leonard McCoy and Gary Mitchell.

“Why’d he take a whole table to himself? Weirdo,” said Dr. McCoy.

“Shut up, Bones,” said Kirk.

“What? Why?”

“I think he can hear you.”

Mitchell squinted at Spock, frowning. “What? How? We’re on the other side of the cafeteria. It’s not like we’re shouting.”

“Vulcans have better hearing than us. I think the points of their ears can pick up sound waves or something.”

Spock put down his spoon at the absolute inaccurate and illogical statement. Kirk, as if sensing Spock's reaction, broke out into a grin.

“Yeah, I thought so. You can hear me, Spock, can’t you? Didn’t your mother ever tell you that eavesdropping was rude?”

“He’s lost it,” said McCoy to Mitchell, behind Kirk’s back. “Jim, stop talking to yourself.”

“Roger that,” said Kirk cheerfully, still grinning as if they were participating in the human habit of ‘joking.’ They were waved over by brunette woman and headed to a table on the other side of the cafeteria. Kirk’s smile brightened at the woman. “Janice! Glad to see you again.” 

Spock turned back to his plomeek soup, only to be immediately interrupted again.

“Hi! You’re Spock, right?”

Spock looked up from his meal again at this new disturbance. A tall, striking woman smiled down at him. Spock could sense that she was an interesting mix of nervous and determined.

“I’m Nyota Uhura,” she said, and held out one hand, balancing her tray on the other. When Spock just looked at it, she dropped it with a small laugh, embarrassed. “Right, I’m sorry about that.” She lifted her hand in a flawless ta’al, which Spock returned.

“My friends and I noticed that you were sitting alone and wanted to extend an invitation to join us at our table,” said Uhura, still smiling, but with a growing embarrassment.

“Thank you for your courtesy, but I prefer where I am seated.”

“Oh,” said Uhura, her smile dimming. It brightened again almost immediately. “Well, do you mind if I sit here?”

“You may do as you wish.”

Uhura exhaled a small breath and set her tray. “Thanks.”

They ate for several minutes in silence. From the corner of his eye, Spock observed that Uhura did not seem to know what to do with her hands. She picked up her fork, then set it down again, only to determinedly pick it up again.

Humans. Although he had conducted extensive studies about their past, their biology, and even their psychology, their behavior was sometimes--perplexing.

“So,” said Uhura, clearing her throat. “How do you like Earth?”

Spock considered her question. “It is illogical.”

Uhura laughed, further proving to Spock that humans were prone to laughing at nothing at all. “You could definitely say that.”

“I just did,” said Spock.

Uhura took a bite from her salad in lieu of response. Like most humans, she radiated her emotions without embarrassment. She appeared frustrated, although Spock could not comprehend why.

“So, you’re rooming with Jim Kirk, huh?” tried Uhura, sounding somewhat desperate. “You have my sympathies.”

Spock set his spoon down, focusing all of his attention on her. “You have met Kirk?”

“Unfortunately,” said Uhura, rolling her eyes, but a small, satisfied smile curled at the corners of her lips. “He tried to pick me up at a bar.”

One of Spock's eyebrows winged up, before he quickly tamped down his unseemly display of emotion. “Is physically lifting another person a human ritual at drinking establishments?” Spock had thoroughly done his research on humans before coming to Earth, but as with much else, there was only so much one could learn from data PADDs. His lack of firsthand experience, specifically with regards to modern and ever-changing vernacular, could oftentimes be dissatisfactory.

Uhura laughed, shaking her head. “No, I mean, he tried to--to court me.”

“I understand. He did not meet with your qualifications?”

“Not at all. I prefer men who can think with the brain in their heads, not with the ones in their pants.”

“Humans only have one brain,” said Spock.

“Not men,” said Uhura, relaxing into the conversation. “And definitely not Kirk.”

Spock knew her to be practicing the human rhetoric hyperbole, but was uncertain as to her meaning. “Fascinating. I will need to research this further.” 

“Well, no problem,” said Uhura easily, taking another bite from her salad. “Tell me about rooming with Kirk.”

They spent the rest of their lunch in pleasant conversation. Spock found Uhura -- Nyota, as she insisted on being called -- agreeable and intelligent. She gave him her comm number and reiterated that he was always welcome to eat lunch with her and her friends before they parted ways. 

He spent the rest of the afternoon working on his experiments, before he went back to his dorm. Classes begun the next day and he was determined to meditate before he slept. He got as far as a light trance before Kirk returned to their room, noisily dropping his bag on the couch. Kirk looked down at Spock, hands on his hips.

“Did I disturb you?” he asked, innocently.

“Yes,” said Spock, not opening his eyes.

“Too bad,” said Kirk, then put in his headphones and turned his music up full blast, dropping onto his bed without even taking off his shoes.

Emotions hinder logic. Thus, annoyance is irrational. Spock’s eyebrows furrowed. He was unable to achieve more than a light trance with Kirk’s music playing at that volume. After ten minutes, he stood up, rolling up his meditation mat and storing it beneath his desk. He went to Kirk’s bed, hands clasped behind his back.

A moment later, Kirk looked up from his PADD. He took out an earpiece. “Yeah?”

“You are aware that Vulcans have superior hearing,” said Spock.

“So invest in earplugs.”

Spock briefly entertained the idea of dismantling Jim's music device. Then he narrowed his eyes. “You are intentionally trying to provoke me.”

“Is it working?” said Jim, grinning.

“No,” said Spock, and left the room. If he could not meditate, he might as well work on his experiments.

Instead, he ended up sending a long distance comm to his mother.

“Mother, what is the rhetorical meaning of a human man possessing two cerebrums?”

“Excuse me?” Amanda asked, surprise evident in her tone.

“I infer that this fictitious secondary brain is located in the lower half of their body."

“Oh, _Lord_ ,” Amanda said and then, for no apparent reason at all, burst out laughing.

_Humans_.

* * *

“Welcome to Principles of Temporal Mechanics,” began Professor Vassbinder, in the droning tone he had adopted after teaching a class most students were not interested in for thirteen years. It was his first class of the semester, and while he hardly expected his students to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, it killed a little piece of his soul to see so many bored faces staring blankly back at him.

He hated teaching, and he hated his students, and he _really_ hated Temporal Mechanics. 

There was one student staring at him attentively, although Professor Vassbinder would almost have preferred him _not_ to be in his class. He knew all about the Vulcan -- Cadet Spock, with the unpronounceable last name -- who turned his back on the infamous Vulcan Science Academy in order to attend Starfleet instead. And while all the Admirals and Captains were practically jizzing in their pants over such an unprecedented student, Professor Vassbinder could really do without the soulless black eyes measuring him up and, if the slight lift to the Vulcan’s eyebrow was anything to go by, finding him lacking.

Even most the students kept their distance. Maybe it was because his posture was forebodingly perfect, while all the other students slouched beside him.

“I can’t see anything,” the girl behind the Vulcan complained.

“As you know,” Professor Vassbinder continued, “time travel was definitively proven on Stardate 2233 when the Romulan mining ship _Narada_ emerged from a black hole…”

“That is incorrect,” said the Vulcan, his one eyebrow lifting up to act as judge, jury, and executioner. 

“Excuse me?” Professor Vassbinder adjusted his glasses, heat spreading up the back of his neck.

“The problem with humans is that you often only concentrate on what directly affects you,” said the Vulcan, matter-of-factly.

“Ex _cuse_ me?” repeated Professor Vassbinder.

“One other instance on Earth alone was recorded in Roswell in 1947. Descriptors of the occupants of the ship indicates the captain was a Ferengi, and that the ship itself was comprised of devices yet to be invented.”

“Well, there is some evidence--” stuttered Professor Vassbinder with a growing sense of doom.

“Furthermore, it is common knowledge that the the Bajorans and even the Klingons are capable of traveling through spacetime.”

“Yes, but--” Professor Vassbinder stumbled to a halt, unable to come up with a suitable argument. Sweat stood out on his brow and his eyes prickled. Professor Vassbinder was rapidly finding that he resented being systematically torn to pieces by a Vulcan who was half his age. 

“QED,” said a student to the Vulcan’s right.

* * *

“Spock, you can’t make your instructor cry on your first day.”

Spock folded his hands on his lap. “Professor Vassbinder was providing incorrect information, thus I corrected him.”

Captain Pike sighed. “I understand your concerns, but now Professor Vassbinder is refusing to teach with you in his class.”

“I find it fascinating that Command in Starfleet Academy would knowingly allow a professor who is not well-versed in his profession to continue instructing its students. Students, I remind you, who will be captaining starships for the Federation.”

“Noted. We will take appropriate actions,” said Captain Pike, rubbing his temples. To protect his own sanity, he changed the subject. “How are you finding your curriculum? Is it challenging enough?”

“The pace set at Starfleet Academy is approximately half as rigorous as what was required in Vulcan institutions. I will take on a second track in Sciences.”

Captain Pike nodded, somewhat resigned. “I think that’s a good idea. Tell you what, I’ll speak with the Supervisor of Curriculum to have that squared away for you.”

Spock nodded, once.

“A bored Vulcan is a dangerous Vulcan,” the captain muttered, mostly to himself. Before Spock could protest that Vulcans were a peaceful race or something equally logical, Pike spoke again, “Command has been discussing the creation of a new simulation. I will propose that you head this project.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Pike grinned. “Fantastic. I’ll send you the requirements for the _Kobayashi Maru_ scenario, and we’ll go from there. Do you think that will be enough of a challenge for you?”

“I do not have enough data to accurately answer your question, Captain.”

Captain Pike waved his hand dismissively. “Well, you let me know if you still have more time on your hands and we’ll see what we can do for you.” He folded his hands on his desk. “Now, let’s talk about Jim. How has rooming with him been?”

A small furrow grooved between Spock’s eyebrows. “He is illogical.”

“A truer statement has never been said.”

“It is obvious that he has above average intelligence for a human, and yet he refuses to apply himself,” said Spock, with a small amount of frustration. “He is wasteful.”

“See, Jim has the same problem you do,” said Pike, picking up his pen just so that he could point it at Spock. “He has this incredible brain, but nothing to stimulate it. He lacks a proper challenge.”

“And I am to be that challenge,” stated Spock, as if he were still trying to puzzle out why command would choose to stick him with such an illogical roommate. 

Pike smirked. “That’s one way of looking at it. Now, you still have twenty minutes before lunch is over. I suggest you get something to eat before your next class. Try not to make more of your instructors cry, alright? You’re dismissed.”

Spock left with a quick ta’al and Pike leaned back in his chair, resting his chin on the back of his hands. He strongly believed that both Spock and Kirk would one day be great men. The road to get them there, he was beginning to realize, would be a rough one.

* * *

“Oh, _man_.” Kirk was stretching his hands over his head. He was trailing slightly behind Dr. McCoy and Gary Mitchell, twisting his upper torso almost obscenely in an attempt to relieve pressure that was likely generating from his illipsoas muscle. “Tell me again why I decided to enroll in Starfleet?”

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” Mitchell griped, as the doors to the cafeteria swished shut behind them. “You slept through the first half of anthropology and _still_ answered Professor Novakovich’s question correctly.”

“Of course,” said Dr. McCoy. He paused midstep. “Hey look, hobgoblin’s got new friends.”

For one brief moment, Spock made eye contact with Kirk from over Dr. McCoy’s shoulder. Kirk’s eyes widened slightly as he took in the lunch table configuration. 

“Is that _Uhura_?” Kirk hissed.

“Sure looks like it,” said Dr. McCoy.

“Looks to me like she likes ‘em tall, dark, and handsome,” Mitchell said, and grinned lasciviously.

“Suddenly, I’m no longer hungry,” said Kirk, as if having an epiphany. He turned back around. “I’m going to the rec room.”

“Idiot. I’ll bring you a sandwich!” Dr. McCoy called after Kirk’s retreating back. Kirk waved a hand in acknowledgement and disappeared around a corner.

“Poor loser,” muttered Mitchell, almost too quietly for Spock to hear.

Spock tore his gaze away from the trio to turn back to the table, looking at it from an outsider’s eyes. He found that he could not disagree with them, since he also could not understand how his solitary lunches had suddenly become social events. Montgomary Scott, the human male Nyota had brought to his table, was postulating excitedly about transwarp beaming and would not be dissuaded, despite Spock’s informed arguments against it.

“You just had to get him started,” said Nyota, smiling a bit at Scotty.

“No, look, see, I have this equation--have you a pen, lass?” Scotty asked the Orion female Nyota had introduced as Gaila.

“Um, let me see. Oh yes.” Gaila drew the front of her collar forward, peering down, and then pulled a pen out of the front of her shirt. Spock averted his eyes to the remains of his salad.

“Gaila!” Nyota hissed.

“What?” asked Gaila, genuinely confused.

Scotty just held the pen, completely derailed from his argument. His ears were slightly red.

“Alright, that’s enough,” said Nyota decisively. “We’re going to the rec room. Have you been yet, Spock?”

“I have not yet had the opportunity to visit the recreation room,” Spock said. “However--”

“‘No’ would have worked too,” Gaila said cheerfully, bouncing out of her chair. “Come on then! It’s loads of fun.”

“It has come to my attention that--”

“Oh, come on, Spock! Gaila’s right, it is fun,” Nyota insisted, already standing.

Unable to come up with an argument against visiting the recreation room aside from the fact that Kirk would be there, which would be unforgivably petulant, Spock followed the three cadets out of the cafeteria and down a path that wound through the lush green lawns that still gave Spock a pause. It was unnatural to him, this flagrant abuse of water. Grass did not provide any environmental benefits besides nutritional value for herbivorous animals, and since there were no livestock prowling Starfleet Academy, the only conclusion was that humans did not have any compunctions with wasting such a valuable commodity for aesthetic purposes. As a desert-dweller, the thought was very nearly criminal.

But, he was on Earth now, and although California was known for droughts that nearly stretched a decade and could not be completely eradicated by weather grids, it was nothing like Vulcan. Therefore: lawns. Unnatural and illogical, and yet not unpleasing to the eye.

The recreation room consisted of several couches, a pool table, and two dart boards. For the moment, these were neglected, as all of the room’s occupants were circled around the one table holding a tridimensional chess set, watching the two participants intently. Spock recognized the young Russian from his Astrogation class. To his surprise, Kirk was slouched across from him, lazily moving a pawn.

“Kirk can play chess?” said Nyota, voicing Spock’s thoughts.

“Fascinating,” Spock murmured, earning him a sharp look from Nyota that he nearly missed and completely ignored. He went to the table, standing at Leonard McCoy’s side.

“Check,” said Kirk. He sounded _bored_.

“That is impossible,” his opponent protested. “I am a grandmaster in tridimensional chess _and_ two dimensional chess.”

“I’ll have you checkmated in five moves,” said Kirk, cheerfully.

Try as he might, Spock could not unravel Kirk’s tactics. His pieces were scattered across the board with no obvious strategy. Spock found that witnessing Kirk effortlessly defeat his opponent was akin to an experiment resulting in a completely different outcome than he had predicted. 

Kirk glanced up, and then straightened when he saw Spock.

For some reason, Nyota’s frown grew deeper.

The next three moves involved the young Russian fleeing across the board, but Kirk was taking this seriously now. “Aw, Chekov, you shouldn’t have done that. Checkmate.”

Chekov took the next several moments examining the board, then shook his head with a small laugh. “You hawe truly annihilated me.”

“It was a good game,” said Kirk, diplomatically shaking his hand as Chekov stood up. Spock immediately took his seat.

Kirk blinked. The audience also blinked. Spock reset the board.

“Alright,” said Kirk sharing a glance with McCoy. He flashed a grin at Uhura that Spock could only describe as flirtatious, if spurious. “Sorry for stealing your date.”

“Shut up, Kirk,” said Nyota.

“You may have white,” said Spock.

They played in silence for fifteen minutes. Kirk leaned his elbows on the table. Gone was the relaxed air of a cadet demolishing his opponent in a friendly game of chess, replaced with a silent intensity that was completely focused on the game. The crowd, who had chatted and laughed while Chekov and Kirk played, were also silent. Spock was silent; this surprised no one.

“Checkmate,” said Kirk. 

Spock stared at the board for a full minute. There truly was no further move he could make. He looked up at Kirk. “It has been twelve years since I was last defeated.” He looked back down at the board. “And you have done so with a bishop.”

“Never underestimate the minor pieces,” said Kirk, smiling slightly.

“No way,” breathed Nyota. She frowned accusingly at Kirk. “You must have cheated.”

“Against a Vulcan?” Kirk’s small smile transformed into an easy grin, all of the intensity that made most of the crowd hold their breath during the game melting away. “Not possible.” He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and winked at Spock. “Good game. See you at home.”

“Kirk,” said Spock, tearing his eyes away from the board. 

Kirk froze, one arm in the sleeve of his jacket. It occurred to Spock that this was the first time he had referred to Kirk by name. 

Kirk cleared his throat. “Yeah, Spock?”

“We will play again.”

Kirk’s easy smile faltered slightly. He looked to the side, embarrassed for some reason. “Sure thing.” He clapped a hand on Dr. McCoy’s shoulder (Dr. McCoy was uneasily not making eye contact with Gaila, who was grinning predatorily), smiled invitingly at one of the members in the audience that Spock recognized as Janice from lunch the day before, and headed towards the door. “See ya on the flipside.”

After Kirk and Janice left, Spock turned to Nyota. “Where is ‘the flipside’ and how may I get there?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is an AOS remix of the TOS episode “Turnabout Intruder.” Please note that this chapter discusses and touches on mental health issues.

In the next several days, Spock’s schedule finally picked up to a pace he was more familiar with. What he had not anticipated, however, was that this put him in several classes with Kirk. Kirk reacted to Spock’s sudden invasion to his classes by just pretending like Spock was not there at all.

It was even worse in their dorm. Kirk continued to not acknowledge Spock in their rooms except to play his music at a loud enough volume to disturb Spock’s attempts at meditation. This was negatively impacting his shields, which in turn made attending heavily attended classes nearly unbearable. 

This could not continue. He would need to transfer, even if Kirk did defeat him at chess.

Spock had just begun the request form when there was a knock. He locked the PADD and went to open the door. The small, brunette woman known as Janice with whom Kirk was acquainted stood at the entrance, hands clasped together. She peered around Spock, then back up at him when she couldn’t find what she was looking for.

"Is Jim here?"

"He is not currently within our residence," said Spock.

"Well, where is he?"

"I do not keep track of his whereabouts," said Spock. Although his voice carried no inflection, Janice’s face suddenly warped into an angry scowl.

"You can't have him," she hissed, leaning into Spock's personal space. It was such an unexpected non sequitur that Spock leaned back.

"You need not concern yourself with that. Now if you'll excuse me, Miss." He pressed a button, and the door swished shut on her face. Concluding this sudden attack was just another strange nuance in human behavior related to mating habits, he went back to his PADD.

Kirk returned to their dorm before Spock could complete the transfer request form. He appeared to be fatigued, only taking his boots off before dropping onto his bed. Although Kirk played his loud music into the early hours of the morning just to annoy Spock, he did this in conjunction with studying. This was evidence that he was not getting the appropriate hours of sleep for a human male.

Spock set his PADD down, turning to Kirk. "A woman came by requesting for you. I have heard you refer to her as Janice Lester."

"Oh." Although Spock had already seen a plethora of emotions on Kirk’s face in the short period of time they had lived together, he had never seen him look so uneasy.

"That's strange," said Kirk. "I never told her where I lived."

"Perhaps Dr. McCoy told her your place of residence."

"No," said Kirk. "He definitely didn't do that."

"How can you be certain?"

"Because Bones is my friend and he wouldn't do that," said Kirk, a stubborn glint in his eye.

"Then it is likely that she followed you."

Kirk grimaced. "That's what I was thinking."

"Do you no longer have good relations with her?"

As if realizing that they were having a civil conversation for the first time and wanting to put an end to it before they did something out of character like be nice, Kirk’s face closed off. "Now who's prying?"

Spock sat a little straighter. "If there is a potential threat to my being because of your actions, then I reserve the right to more information."

Kirk rolled his eyes. "She's like, five-three. What can she do to that's so dangerous?"

* * *

The very next evening, Spock was again interrupted from his work when someone knocked on their door. He went to it, expecting Janice Lester, and was surprised by a sheepish looking Kirk.

“Sorry, Spock. Looks like I forgot my access code,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. Spock stood to the side to let Kirk in, face completely blank.

Kirk sat on the edge of his bed, crossing his legs. Then he quickly uncrossed his legs and spread them shoulder length apart, resting his elbows on his knees. He appeared to be uncomfortable.

Spock did not sit down.

“Silly of me to forget, I know,” said Kirk, embarrassed. “I’ve just been so stressed lately.”

This was a satisfactory explanation. The dark circles were still present around Kirk’s eyes. And yet, in the weeks Spock had known Kirk, he had come to several conclusions about his character, none of which included forgetfulness. And, in the unlikely event that Kirk did forget his access code, he had ample practice at manipulating the code for his own purposes.

And then Kirk smiled at him. It was a friendly, open smile that he usually directed to Dr. McCoy or Mitchell, or one of his multitude of other friends. 

Spock stared for a full thirty seconds, and then left their dorm.

* * *

_In the 22nd Century, the industrialized Oranra was stricken by a devastating plague that wiped out 85% of their population and triggered a technological devolution in the remaining survivors..._

Leonard looked up from his PADD with a frown when there was a very systematic knock at his door. Space diseases, _Jesus_. Not for the first time, Leonard was rethinking his rash decision to join Starfleet.

The knock came again and Leonard set his PADD down, mumbling, “All right, all right, hold your horses.”

He opened the door. Spock stood at the entrance, as rigid as if someone shoved a rod into his spine.

“What the sam hill are _you_ doing here?” 

“Is Kirk imbibing in any mind-altering substances?” asked Spock.

The _nerve_ of this guy. “Who the hell do you think you are, comin’ around to my place and asking a question like that? I ought to kick your ass.”

“Answer my question, Dr. McCoy.”

Leonard’s face twisted into a fierce scowl. If possible, Leonard preferred to pretend like Jim was just an acquaintance. Someone he occasionally drank with. But if he was honest with himself (which he rarely liked to be), the kid had got himself in deep, and Leonard didn’t appreciate this green-blooded, pointy eared bastard’s _implications_. “I don’t know where you got your circuits crossed, but Jim’s not about to risk his career by doing _drugs_ , you pointy-eared hobgoblin.”

“A simple yes or no will suffice, Doctor,” said Spock.

“ _No_. Why are you makin’ these false accusations about Jim, anyway?”

“I see. Is there a history of psychosis amongst his ascendants?”

“What? No! For crying out loud, what are you babbling on about?”

“Vulcans do not babble.”

“Then get on with it before I really do kick your ass.”

Spock straightened even further, something that Leonard hadn’t thought was possible. “Kirk is showing symptoms of mental disruption. As you are his friend and a doctor, I surmised that you would be able to assist in this situation. I see now that I was in error. Goodbye, Doctor.”

“Wait, wait. You think Jim’s having a mental breakdown?”

“I perceive you have finally grasped my meaning.”

“What are his symptoms?” asked Leonard, choosing to ignore the insult for the time being.

“He appears to have memory and neural disturbance. Although he was capable of locating our residence and recognized me, he could not remember his access code to our room. This is not in accordance to Kirk’s natural aptitude.”

“High praise coming from you,” Leonard muttered. “Anything else?”

“He was pleased to see me,” said Spock, flatly.

Leonard stared hard at Spock. “You’re joking.”

“Vulcans do not joke.”

“Dammit, Jim.” Leonard sighed and bid his quiet evening of studying a fond farewell. He _knew_ Jim was trouble right when he spotted him on the shuttle, but did that stop him from taking the empty seat next to him? No. Just another mistake to add to Leonard’s growing list of them, lately. “Alright, I’ll check on him. Go away and do whatever Vulcans do.”

Leonard went to 3F 121, armed with a tricorder and several hyposprays. Jim was sitting crosslegged on his bed, staring down at his PADD with a perplexed furrow between his eyebrows. When he saw Leonard standing at his bed, his face broke out in a sunny smile. 

Leonard frowned in response. ‘Sunny smiles’ were not atypical for Jim, but he normally did not direct them at Leonard unless he wanted something.

“Hey there, Bones. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Yeah, well, your Vulcan buddy swung by actin’ all concerned, so I thought I’d do my due diligence and make sure 

“It’s nice of Spock to show concern, but there’s really nothing wrong with me.”

Leonard ran the tricorder down Jim’s side, pressing his lips together. He could see why Spock came to him. No matter how big of a problem Jim was in, he would never call Spock _nice_. Probably he would say something like, ‘Tell that pointy-eared bastard to mind his own goddamn business.’

“Just a routine check,” said Leonard. “Who knows what your whacked out immune system might hit you with next.”

“Thanks, Bones.” The name was right, but the words weren’t. Jim had made it very clear just what he thought about routine physicals and medical treatments. Right about now, Leonard should be chasing Jim throughout the dorms. Instead, Jim sat quietly on his computer chair and _thanked_ him, for crying out loud.

Leonard pulled back his tricorder, examining the results with a frown. “Well, the scan came back normal,” he said, a little dubiously. “I’d like to run one more diagnostic test on you, though. We’ll need to go to the medical plaza.”

For a moment, Jim looked slightly annoyed, but then shrugged. “Sure, if you think that’s best.”

Yes, definitely weird.

* * *

Jim came to with a groan. He pressed his hands hard into his eyes, trying to stem a raging headache. This was some hangover. He didn’t even recall drinking.

He tried pushing himself off the bed, but overcompensated and tripped, landing hard on his hands. Small hands. Small hands with delicate fingers. Jim rolled over onto his back, holding his hand up to stare at it with a frown. His fingernails were manicured.

“What the--” Jim’s hands flew to his neck, his eyes going huge. That was not his voice. Not looking down, and with a growing dread, he touched his chest. It was--it was _squishy_.

Jim flew to his feet. The room he was in was unfamiliar, but had the same layout as all of the other dorms. He rushed to the mirror hanging on one of the walls.

The face of Janice Lester gaped at him in horror. Jim turned away from the mirror quickly, feeling like he might be sick.

“Okay,” he said to himself, in Janice’s voice. “Get a grip. Stranger things have happened. Maybe not in my life, but just overall. Yeah.”

He had to get out of this room.

“First things first.” Jim laughed at the absurdity of it, shaking his head. “If I’m in Janice’s body, then--”

“JANICE!” he howled. “What the hell are you doing with my body?!”

In the privacy of Janice’s room, he indulged in a mini-panic attack for several seconds, then shook himself out of it. 

“Priorities, Jim. Find my body, _then_ freak out.”

He stumbled out of Janice’s room, clumsy from a combination of whatever drugs Janice administered to him and unfamiliar body proportions. He left the women’s dorms, having vague plans to head back to his own, when fortune appeared in the form of a pointy-eared grouch.

"Spock! I never thought I'd say this, but man, am I happy to see you!" Jim cried, grabbing Spock’s arm and dragging him to the relative privacy of a tree.

If Jim thought that Spock treated him badly, it was nothing compared to how Spock reacted to random women grabbing at him. His entire body went stiff and his face went hard as a marble bust as he pulled away from Jim’s clinging hands.

"I fail to comprehend why you would express any emotion in locating me, Miss Lester."

"Jeez, you really are a cranky bastard. Look, Spock, it's me, Jim. I--" have absolutely no way of proving it, shit. "I play my music really loud to annoy you every night."

If possible, Spock's expression became even stiffer. "That is hardly private information."

“You have a hairy chest.”

“While extremely rude, this is still knowledge that Kirk could have shared with you.”

This was all Spock's fault. If he hadn't been such a jerk when they first met, maybe he would know Jim well enough for Jim to prove it to him with a secret only they would know.

"I did some research about Vulcans when you first moved in. Can't you do that mind linking thingy? That would prove that I'm me, right?"

Spock zeroed in on him, finally giving the situation his full attention, and Jim inwardly cheered. "A mind meld is a highly intimate and invasive act. We do not perform them unless it is absolutely necessary."

"I can't think of a time more necessary than now," said Jim, desperately. "Please, Spock."

Spock hesitated for a long moment, but then to Jim's relief, nodded once.

"All right." He reached for Jim's face. Jim, who had heard about mind melds, didn't realize it consisted of _grabbing someone's face_ and flinched back.

"If you do not wish for a mind meld, then you should have not suggested it," said Spock.

"No, no, I'm ready this time. I just hadn't anticipated the whole face grabby thing."

"From your eloquence, I see now that you must be Kirk," said Spock, because for all that he was an emotionless bastard, he was still a bastard. He touched the side of Jim's face. "I will only initiate a light meld, to allow you to maintain your privacy."

Jim nodded once and, as if that had been the permission Spock was waiting for, Jim was no longer alone in his head. He felt like he was turned inside out, actually seeing his own thoughts. Spock was there too, a calming presence just outside of the whirlwind of colors and lights and sounds.

_Do you believe me now?_

There was no response. Maybe he wasn't doing the whole thinking at Spock thing correctly. He tried again, pushing the thought at Spock. It formed as a tendril of light, circling Spock’s presence. Oh, _cool._

_Yes. I believe you._

_Hey, this is pretty neat. I didn’t realize mind melds were like this--_

And then abruptly Spock was pulling back. Jim followed him for several inches, then jerked back as well.

"Wow," said Jim.

Spock said nothing. Jim rubbed the back of his head, then flinched when his hand encountered long hair. He had momentarily been so distracted by the mind meld that he completely forgot he was still in Janice’s body.

Janice. Jesus H. Christ.

“How was she able to transfer your life energy into her body?” asked Spock, as if reading Jim’s mind. Except, no. He had just done that, and it was completely different. Jim thought he might be getting a little hysterical.

“She had this--apparatus in her room. We broke up last week, but this morning she pleaded with me to talk to her one more time. I saw this crazy device in the corner and went to take a look at it, then, wham.”

“‘Wham’?”

“That about sums it up, yeah.”

“It is hardly a scientific term.”

Jim shrugged. “It’s the only way I know how to describe it. One minute I was in my body, the next, hers. She sedated me and took off. Actually, you haven’t seen her, have you?”

“I have encountered Miss Lester. She came to our room two point three hours ago. As she was unable to recall your access code, I surmised you were intoxicated and informed Dr. McCoy. At this moment, he is running tests on Miss Lester.”

Jim sighed, stepping back from the tree. “I hope it shows something weird and alerts Bones. Anyway, we should find her and see if she’ll reverse this body swap thing. Being in a woman’s body is a lot less fun than I thought it would be.”

“You have thought about being in a woman’s body?”

The lascivious grin on Janice’s face was purely Jim. “Oh, all the _time_.”

Spock looked at him. Then he started towards the building.

“Come on, that was funny!”

“I refuse to acknowledge that remark, as I believe it will encourage you,” said Spock.

Jim laughed, heading in the other direction. “You find Bones. I’m going to look for my body.”

* * *

“Look, he checked out fine,” McCoy insisted. “I even subjected him to a Robbiani dermal-optimic test.”

“He is not James Kirk.”

McCoy scrubbed his hands over his face. “I know he’s acting strange. But he’s been under a lot of stress lately. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“You misunderstand me. The life entity within Kirk’s body is not that of Kirk. I am uncertain of her methods, but Janice Lester has appropriated Kirk’s body.”

McCoy looked at Spock as if he were the one suffering from mental disturbances. “You’re out of your Vulcan mind.”

“I performed a mind meld with the body of Janice Lester, which proved to be the true James Kirk.”

“You did a what now?”

“All Vulcans can perform a psionic technique that allows them to telepathically link two individuals. With Kirk’s permission, I utilized a mind meld on Janice Lester’s body to confirm his claims. It is true. Kirk’s consciousness is in Miss Lester’s body.”

McCoy frowned. “But that’s impossible.”

“If you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

“Very zen of you,” McCoy grouched.

“Kirk is currently searching for Janice. I believe it would be best if we assist him,” said Spock, then left McCoy’s room without another word.

“I could have been a country doctor,” McCoy groused to himself, following Spock. “I could have made buckets of money and led a peaceful life. Instead, I’m searching for my best friend’s body because a pointy-eared hobgoblin performed some sort of Vulcan voodoo and now thinks we’re in a bad movie about body swapping. What is my _life_?”

Spock ignored him.

They ran into Kirk-as-Janice halfway back to Spock’s dorm. He seemed to be in a hurry, but stopped when he saw Spock and McCoy.

“Did you explain everything to him?”

“I did. I do not believe he believes me, however,” said Spock.

“Of course he doesn’t. Come on, I know where she is.” He jerked his head to the side, indicating they follow him.

“How do you know where he is?” McCoy asked.

“‘She’ is,” Kirk corrected.

“Okay, fine.” McCoy rolled his eyes and amended with a tone reserved for small children, “How do you know where she is?”

“She tried to hack into my accounts, but she triggered my security locks. I was able to trace her IP back to the computer labs. We have to hurry before she leaves.”

As it turned out, it was Spock who entered the computer lab first. There was a quiet sound of a phaser being fired and then something punched into Spock’s shoulder. He stumbled back a step, hand grasping his shoulder and eyes wide. Green blood oozed between his fingers.

“Spock!” Kirk yelled and lunged forward, but McCoy yanked him back. He struggled, as if it was imperative for him to go to Spock’s side. 

How--unexpected.

“Don’t move.” Janice kept the phaser pointed at Spock. Spock remained frozen in place. Although he did not deceive himself into believing that Kirk had any measure of esteem for him, he had never seen such coldness in those familiar blue eyes. “If you move one muscle, I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”

“Janice! Leave him alone!” Kirk yelled. He stopped struggling, though, too afraid that she might shoot Spock again in response.

“I knew you were coming,” said Janice, calmly. “You thought you were so smart with your security locks. I knew you would come when they were triggered. I didn’t think you would bring your posse, though.”

“You activated his security locks on purpose,” said McCoy.

“Yes. You need to give me your information now, Jim. All of it.”

“You must realize that you cannot continue to act as James Kirk. With Dr. McCoy and I as witnesses, the truth _will_ be exposed,” said Spock.

“You! You should have minded your own business!” Janice snapped, leveling the gun between Spock’s eyes. 

“You cannot kill all of us,” said Spock, reasonably.

“Why not? If I kill you and McCoy, then who will know I’m not Jim Kirk? No one will listen to him,” she waved towards Jim with her free hand. “Everyone will just think he’s crazy. That’s what you thought, didn’t you? I’ll just claim that ‘Janice’ over here went insane and killed you two. Everyone will believe Earth’s golden boy.”

“You do not wish to return to your own body?”

“When I could be Jim? Not a chance. He could do so much with just his name alone and he just _wastes_ it. I will be a better James Kirk than the real James Kirk could hope to be.”

“That statement is false. As you are not James Kirk, you can never be a better version of him.”

Janice’s expression twisted into a fierce, mean scowl, a wholly unnatural expression on Kirk’s face. “I am now. I am James Kirk,” she said, and pressed her finger against the trigger.

* * *

In an implausible, yet highly fortuitous turn of events, the the life-entity transfer device in Janice Lester’s room flickered right as Janice pulled the trigger. Subsequently, her consciousness returned to her true body, and ejected Jim right back into his own. 

It was, if one were to believe in such things, an extreme case of “damn good luck.”

* * *

Kirk jerked the hand holding the gun to the side, just in time for the beam aimed aimed at Spock’s face to only clip his left ear.

“Spock!” Kirk yelled, which really wasn’t necessary since he was right in front of him. He dropped the gun and grabbed both of Spock’s shoulders. “Are you okay? I am so sorry.”

“The fault is not yours,” said Spock, somewhat taken aback by Kirk’s sudden close proximity. 

“Jesus, you’re bleeding,” said Kirk.

“It will be fine. I have already assessed the damage. The beam went cleanly through my shoulder; however, I will need to address it soon.”

“Now that you guys have had your touching reunion,” interrupted McCoy, sounding somewhat strained, “can I get a little help here?”

McCoy held tight to both of Janice’s arms, but she was struggling hard enough that it was doubtful he would be able to restrain her much longer. Tears were running down both of her cheeks.

“It’s not fair!” she wailed, when Spock went to her side. Without even a flicker of emotion, he reached forward and pinched the side of her neck. Janice’s eyes fell shut, and she collapsed limply against McCoy’s chest.

“Don’t kill her!” Kirk yelped, aghast.

“I did not. I merely performed a Vulcan nerve pinch. She will regain consciousness within the hour.” He turned to Kirk, one eyebrow raised. “You do not wish to enact vengeance on her person for the liberties she took.” Spock was not suggesting it; he was merely curious. Most humans would seek revenge. He wondered if Kirk would, too.

“She needs help, not punishment,” Kirk protested. He was starting to look angry. “I am not going to ruin her.”

“I hate to say it, Jim, but I think she already ruined her chances, herself,” said McCoy, almost sounding--gentle.

“I know, I know. I just--” Kirk trailed off, looking stubborn but confused.

“We will need to alert Starfleet Command,” Spock said. His own voice had softened somewhat in the face of Kirk’s distress.

“Yeah.” Kirk raked his hand through his hair, causing it to stand up in different directions. “I can’t stop you from pressing charges, since she tried to kill you. I just--I don’t want to ruin her,” he repeated.

“We do understand,” said Spock.

* * *

“Janice confessed everything. She admitted to having an affair with Captain Arthur Coleman,” said Jim in their dorm the next evening, after Spock was released from the medical plaza. “He headed an expedition to Camus II last year, where he discovered a device that could transfer life-energy.”

“Why was this device not properly stored?”

“It was, but Janice managed to convince Coleman to steal it for her. Her intention all along was to get with me just so that she could have my name. She thought it would be easier being me, that she could rise up in the ranks quicker.” Jim shrugged sadly, sitting on his bed. “If you ask me, she chose the wrong target.”

“I find that I do not agree,” said Spock.

“You think she could’ve become captain just with my name?” Jim scoffed.

“No. I do, however, believe that you show the potential to become a captain, and that it is possible for you to do so, quickly. I do not believe that it will be because of your name.”

“Oh,” said Jim, so startled at the unexpected compliment that a small blush rose to his cheeks. He didn’t know how to respond to that, so he fiddled with his PADD with embarrassment.

“She could have become captain, too,” continued Jim, after a moment. “I think she could have been a good captain. She’s bright and ambitious.”

“Somewhat impatient,” said Spock, wryly.

Jim snorted, looking back up in surprise. “Did you just make a joke? A really dark joke, all things considered, but a joke nonetheless?”

“Vulcans do not joke.”

“Right,” said Jim with a laugh. “I’m starting to think you have hidden depths.” He shrugged off his jacket and crawled under the covers. 

“Good night, Spock,” said Jim. He did not play his music.

* * *

Spock thought about the chess game. Then he thought about Kirk’s capacity for sympathy, even in the face of a woman who tried to destroy him just for her name. He thought about Kirk’s mind, so bright and noisy and _open_.

Spock picked up his PADD and deleted the transfer request form. Then he opened a new missive. The Vulcan High Council would require some convincing that this was not a deliberate attempt on Spock's life. Or at least, not one sanctioned by Starfleet.


	4. Chapter 4

“Would you take a look at that.”

Gary glanced up from his PADD, minimizing his game of Spider Solitaire. He and McCoy were lounging at a table in the quad, enjoying the rare day where the sun was able to break through the fog in San Francisco. McCoy turned around, resting his elbows on the table. His expression was a mix between astonishment, resignation, and the usual irritation. Gary followed his gaze.

To his surprise, Jim was walking alongside Spock, chattering animatedly. His hands were waving about to demonstrate whatever topic he had latched onto. What was even more shocking was how Spock was responding to this nuisance. Instead of ignoring Jim, his head was tilted towards him, eyes sometimes glancing to his companion when Jim reached a particularly interesting point. He even appeared to be _responding_.

“What--are they BFFs now or something?” Gary scoffed.

“Looks like it.” There was a hint of understanding in McCoy’s voice that had Gary turning to him in surprise.

“You support this?” he asked, betrayed.

McCoy snorted and got up from the table, heading after Spock and Jim. “If you ask me, it’s worlds better than when they were at each other’s throats. Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

* * *

It was now customary for Nyota and her friends to join Spock for lunch. Though it took some adjustment, he found that he did not mind the additional company. They were all considerably intelligent when it came to their areas of expertise, and conversation was always invigorating. Therefore, he did not switch to an empty table when he saw his normal one taken by Nyota, Scott, and Gaila, but rather headed towards it.

Spock expected Kirk (“It’s Jim, Spock, if we’re friends now--or at least _friendly_ \--then call me Jim, alright?”) to break away from their conversation after they took their meals from the food synthesizer and sit with his own friends, but instead he followed Spock.

“Hi!” said Kir--Jim, going up to Gaila’s side.

“Jim!” Gaila squeaked, genuinely pleased by his appearance. She bumped her cheek against his affectionately, indicating a close prior relationship with one another.

“Mind if some friends and I join you?”

“Yes,” said Nyota.

“Of course not!” said Gaila.

Jim chose to listen to Gaila, waving over his own group of friends to pack into the table. Gary Mitchell and Dr. McCoy, who had just got their food, looked a little dubious when they joined the table, along with Chekov, the young Russian Spock recognized from chess and his Japanese companion. It was so crowded that Gary Mitchell was forced to pull up another chair to sit at the end.

“I know you’re all best buddies with the hobgoblin over here now, but I don’t get why you need to subject the rest of us to his company,” grumbled McCoy.

Spock expected Jim to sit next to Gaila, but instead he squeezed into the space between Nyota and Spock, forcing McCoy into the seat beside Gaila. He thought that Jim was purposefully trying to antagonize Nyota, and to an extent, Spock himself. But then Gaila smiled at McCoy and McCoy looked down at his sandwich.

Ah. Perhaps not.

“Spock, I don’t know if you’ve met Sulu and Chekov yet,” said Jim, waving a hand towards the two newcomers Spock was least familiar with. Spock nodded to them, blinking at Chekov’s enthusiastic greeting in response. The rest of the table exchanged pleasantries, Jim immediately taking to Scott and spending several minutes engaging him in conversation about warp cores.

The lunch could have been awkward, even somewhat tense, had Jim not immediately launched into a humorous anecdote about stealing his step-father’s car. Spock suspected the story was embellished--it was highly unlikely that Jim was involved in a high speed race with Orion slavers at the tender age of ten.

“Illogical,” Spock concluded, as Jim reached the end of his story, which involved highly improbable explosions and a young Jim diving out of the car at the last second. “Even if you were driving a twentieth century vehicle that used petroleum, it is very unlikely that the automobile would detonate, unless you had also stored cases of explosives in the trunk,” he ended, on a dry note.

Jim’s eyes lit up. “Oh yeah, I forgot that piece. So, the Orion slavers were pretty pissed off when I beat them in the race, so they threw a sticky mine on the back of my car--”

Spock’s suppressed even the slightest twitch of amusement as Jim carelessly integrated this new detail into his story. If Jim ever decided to terminate his career in Starfleet, he could have a lucrative career in showmanship. The entire table, even Nyota, was completely enraptured.

“It is illogical for you to disregard the rules put in place by your authoritative figures,” said Spock, after Jim explained how he was led away by the police from the thousands of awed spectators who had just happened to be at the cliff Jim had driven over.

Jim leaned back, smirking. “Yeah, I bet you were the paragon of Vulcan propriety.”

Spock considered this, adjusted his perception of Jim’s story based on his own experiences, and said, “No.”

Jim sat up straight, eyes bright with interest. “No?”

“I am here,” said Spock.

Jim opened his mouth to pry, as he was wont to do, when he was interrupted by Nyota. “So, what happened after?”

Jim turned to her, surprised.

“I mean, after the Orion slavers swore their allegiance to you and gave up their despicable livelihoods--”

“--and after the President of the Federation appeared to give you an award--” Sulu piped in, grinning.

“What happened? I can’t imagine they would detain such a great hero,” said Nyota, voice dripping with disdain.

Something changed in Jim’s expression, something so minute that Spock would have thought he might have been the only one who noticed, except then he saw the doctor straighten and tense slightly. Jim looked, just for the quickest of seconds, _haunted_. 

Jim’s smile was still easy, but Spock stiffened a little when Jim flippantly said, “Why, I was given my own planet, of course.”

Nyota rolled her eyes as the others, save for McCoy and Spock, laughed goodnaturedly. “Can’t you cut through the bullshit and tell us what really happened?”

“Why?” asked Jim, turning to her fully. Spock could no longer see his expression, but Jim sounded genuinely curious. “The truth doesn’t make a good story. It’s boring.”

“Whatever, Kirk,” snapped Nyota, grabbing her tray and standing up. “I’m going to class.”

Jim watched her leave, then turned back to his friends with his hands folded behind his head. “Yeah, I think she’s starting to come around.”

McCoy stood as well, coming around the table to clap Jim on the shoulder. “All right, Don Juan, let’s go. You’ve got class as well.”

Jim glanced at his wrist, at what appeared to be a 20th century watch, and got to his feet. “Shit, yeah. Later.”

Spock watched as Jim and McCoy left, noting the way McCoy stood a little closer to Jim. Even from this distance, he could hear McCoy ask about Jim’s wellbeing. Jim patted his friend on the shoulder and murmured something dismissive, and then the two of them left the cafeteria.

Fascinating.

* * *

That Saturday night, Spock sat in front of their room’s terminal to finally dedicate all of his attention to the Kobayashi Maru. He had just managed to lose himself within the lines of code when their door swished open. Spock did not need to turn around to know it was Jim. Even under the smell of alcohol and unfamiliar perfume, Spock could still pick up Jim’s earthy scent. When no footsteps followed the entrance, Spock pulled away from the code to turn and look at Jim. Jim was leaning at the entrance of the door, hands in his pockets. He was examining Spock and the terminal with a inquisitive light in his sleepy, half-lidded eyes.

“Whas’at?”

Jim Kirk was very curious. It had taken Spock the entire two weeks of living with him to realize that he wasn’t intentionally attempting to invade in Spock’s privacy; rather, he just had an unquenchable thirst to understand everything around him. Already he had moved further into the room, leaning slightly over Spock to examine his code.

Jim let out a low whistle. “Wow, Spock. This is really cool. Can I see the final product?”

“There are bugs that need to be addressed before it is ready for a demo.”

“Yeah, I see,” said Jim, scrolling through the code. 

“Clarify,” Spock demanded.

Surprised, Jim looked away from the terminal and back at Spock. Whatever he saw on Spock’s face made him grin. “A little protective of our work, are we?”

“I simply wish for you to elaborate on your feedback,” said Spock, stiffly.

“We-ell,” said Jim, leaning his forearm against the back of Spock’s chair to balance himself better, “Up here, you have some code so that this simulation can take both voice and console commands, right?” Jim pointed to a line of code near the top of the screen, then scrolled down. “This line of code right here,” his finger trailed down, “for the distress call, is going to interfere with that.”

Spock stared at the offending line of code. “I am certain I would have discovered this on review.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Jim, diplomatically.

Spock tore his eyes away from the code to look at Jim. He was very close, eyes still darting over the lines of code. “You are inebriated.”

“Drunk as a skunk,” said Jim, cheerfully.

“And yet you were able to find an issue in my programming with not more than a glance,” said Spock, choosing to ignore the nonsensical idiom.

Jim shrugged, pulling away from the terminal. “When you’re that deep in code, sometimes you just need a fresh pair of eyes to check it over for you.”

Spock considered this, came up with several arguments, then dismissed it for the most efficient. “Your point is valid. I request that you monitor and test the Kobayashi Maru for quality.”

“You want me to QA it?” Jim asked, startled. 

“Yes.”

“Sure, Spock. No problem.” Jim’s eyelashes dipped down as he looked to the side, a small smile twitching the corner of his lips. At this close proximity, Spock could _feel_ that Jim was pleased. “Just let me know when you’re ready for me to take a look at it.”

Spock nodded his acknowledgement and turned back to the terminal, fingers flying over the keys. Hot breath puffed against the back of Spock’s neck as Jim huffed a small laugh, then got up and went to his bed.

* * *

The next morning, after Spock consumed his breakfast and returned to their dorm to prepare for class, Spock attempted to enter his room by inputting his access code. The door did not open. In the privacy of the empty hall, Spock indulged in a minute downturned eyebrow and pulled up the door’s coding. Per usual, when he overwrote Jim’s code and successfully opened the door, Jim was at the other side, grinning widely.

“Have a good day,” said Jim, cheerfully, and bypassed Spock to go to his class.

After classes, when Jim again disappeared to likely spend his evening in the company of McCoy, Spock opened a long distance communication channel.

“Mother, what does it mean when someone reprograms a door every morning? Is it that they do not wish for me to access the room? And yet, instead of indicating disappointment when I inevitably overwrite the algorithm, I can only detect amusement.”

Amanda looked surprised, and then a strange mix of troubled and amused. “Is your roommate bullying you?”

“Negative. Kirk and I have resolved our differences in the past eight days and fifteen hours. I am curious as to why you immediately thought of him.”

“I’m pleased to hear that. Well, it sounds like a prank. Sometimes, pranks can be mean spirited, but this one is pretty harmless.”

“A prank,” Spock repeated, thoughtfully. “Akin to a practical joke.”

“Yes.”

“I see. And it is custom for human males in our age group to participate in such pranks?”

“Ye-es,” said Amanda, narrowing her eyes. “What are you thinking, Spock?”

“I am considering my involvement in human practices to better understand my heritage passed down from you.”

Amanda snorted, a familiar, but rare playful twinkle in her brown eyes. “I support the furthering of your education. May I recommend twentieth century music, specifically from the 1970s?”

* * *

The next morning, as Jim sat down to enjoy a cup of coffee in the crowded cafeteria, his PADD chimed. He pulled it out from his bag to see who would be messaging him at such an early hour.

“What the--” he said, just as Bones sat across from him. Several files were opening by themselves, and then suddenly, much louder than what should be possible for a PADD’s sound card, began a yowling rendition of George Thorogood’s “Bad to the Bone,” as sung by the PADD’s robotic voice.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Bones shouted over the music.

“I’m not doing anything!” Jim yelped back, frantically trying to crash his PADD. He pulled up the PADD’s programming, only to find lines code that he recognized very well after hours of QAing.

“It’s Spock,” said Jim, blankly.

“What?!” 

“He’s hacked my PADD.”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Bones snapped, grabbing the PADD and flipping it over. He yanked apart the back, not exactly using a delicate touch but not destroying Jim’s PADD in the process, either.

“There,” Bones said, handing the dismembered PADD back to Jim. Jim stared down at it in horror.

“I have to send a paper to Professor Matthews by noon,” he said.

“Well, don’t do it anywhere near me,” Bones sniped, sipping his coffee.

Jim did not reassemble his PADD anywhere near Bones. Nor did he do so in the library, his room, or anywhere with a high population of students who would react negatively to his PADD singing terrible versions of hair-band songs. He ended up at the very same tree he and Spock hid under when he was in Janice’s body, scaring away the couple who had erroneously thought they had found a safe place to make out only to be interrupted by his PADD’s performance of ‘Come On Feel the Noize.’ He sent his paper to Professor Matthews, spent twenty minutes trying to overwrite Spock’s code, then gave up and pulled his PADD apart again. Whatever Spock did completely ruined his PADD.

After class, when Jim went back to their dorm fully prepared to give Spock a piece of his mind for mutilating his PADD, Spock completely derailed his rant by asking, just the very slightest bit _hopefully_ , “Did I correctly employ in the art of ‘practical joking?’”

Jim closed his mouth around the rant. Then he said, a little helplessly, “Yes, Spock. That was a good prank.”

When Spock went back to the terminal, clearly pleased with himself, Jim sighed and put in an order for a new PADD over his comm.


	5. Chapter 5

Jim frowned at the lines of code in front of him. Something was bothering him. Of course, it was impossible to fully comprehend the simulation without seeing the final product, but he couldn’t help feeling suspicious.

Well, Spock said the _Kobayashi Maru_ would be ready for demo next weekend. Jim could lay his concerns to rest, then. He had a feeling he knew what was wrong, but wouldn’t be able to satisfactorily prove his theory until the demo. In any case, there was a chance he was just overthinking it.

If he was right, he would just talk to Spock. No big deal.

* * *

“Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.”

Silence.

“King Arthur and Merlin?”

Still nothing.

“Oh, I know! Jeeves and Woo--”

“I will not participate in the human tradition of dressing myself in costume for Halloween.”

Jim frowned, dropping down on his bed. Spock hadn’t even turned away from the computer terminal during Jim’s suggestions.

“Robot Sylvester and his trusty partner Murray! You can be Sylvester,” said Jim, generously.

“Jim,” said Spock, finally turning to face him. “I have no interest in dressing myself as a fictional character, especially not as an automaton named Sylvester.”

Jim folded his arms over his chest and glared. “I’ll have you know that Robot Sylvester was the greatest thing that came out of the twenty-second century.”

“I do not doubt you would think so.”

“I think I was just insulted.”

“You are astute.”

Jim contemplated hurling his pillow at Spock’s head, but decided it would probably end badly for him. “So you’re okay with participating the human tradition of playing practical jokes, but not with the human Halloween traditions?” he asked instead, attempting to out-logic the logician.

“Practical jokes do not require me to assume the guise of a fictional character,” said Spock, logically.

Jim puffed out a breath, defeated. “Fine. But you at least have to come on the pub crawl with me! We can’t live in San Francisco without doing the traditional pub crawl. It would be a _travesty_.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” said Spock, but then gave in. “Will you cease disturbing me if I agree to do so?”

“Yes.”

“I will attend your Halloween celebration, then.”

Jim grinned, counting that as a win. “Awesome! If you won’t dress up, you need to at least wear something casual. No need to party in cadet pajamas.”

Spock pulled his red uniform shirt over his head until he was just in his black undershirt and uniform pants. “Is this sufficient?”

Jim did a very good job at not staring, thank you. Spock was such a private individual that Jim had never caught Spock in the act of dressing in the months they had lived together and Jim thought, clinically, that it looked like Spock managed to find time in his busy schedule to hit the gym. He shook his head. “Put on your black pants. You still look like you’re about to go to bed.”

“Please turn around.”

Jim rolled his eyes but did what he was asked. “Public bathrooms must be hell for you,” he muttered.

Spock was smart. He hid himself well enough that Jim didn’t even catch a glimpse of skin in their window’s reflection. Not that he was peeking, of course.

“I am ready.”

Jim turned back around, considered Spock. He looked--severe, yet mysterious. Jesus, Spock was handsome, even with his dorky haircut and angry eyebrows.

“Good,” he said, tamping down on his inner thirteen-year-old glee at seeing Spock in civilian human clothing. Not that Jim wouldn’t also enjoy seeing Spock in casual Vulcan clothing, but there was just _something_ about him in all black. It contrasted very nicely with his pale skin while simultaneously emphasizing his dark hair and eyes.

Spock nodded, but then raised his eyebrow at Jim’s uniform.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Jim, yanking off his own top. He had no compunctions about undressing in front of Spock, even though he did notice Spock turn away when he pulled off his uniform pants in favor of a pair of dark jeans. He pulled on a brown hoodie as well, then turned to look back at Spock thoughtfully.

“You’re a desert-dweller, right? Here,” he tossed his leather jacket at Spock, who caught it and pulled it on without question.

Lust pooled in Jim’s stomach at the sight of Spock in his jacket, surprising him so much that he quickly turned back around to pretend like he needed something else from his closet. He gaped at his uniforms, wondering where the hell _that_ came from. Spock was a good looking guy and all, but generally speaking, Jim didn’t think he was all that into guys. Especially not bitchy Vulcans.

“Um,” he said to his uniforms, privately ordering himself to _get it together, Kirk!_ , “all right, are you ready?”

“I am.”

Jim glanced at him again, then decided, for the sake of his own sanity, that he should limit his looking as much as possible for the remainder of the night. He took Spock to Katie’s, the first bar in San Francisco’s traditional Halloween pub crawl. It was really quite crowded, and Spock stuck out like an uncomfortable sore thumb. Jim ushered him into a large round booth, even though it was already being monopolized by a single couple.

“Excuse me,” the man said, squinting dangerously at Jim. It just made him look myopic, so Jim said, “Not at all,” and abandoned Spock to grab a couple beers.

“I fail to see how this is ‘enjoyable’,” Spock said, taking the beer from Jim when he returned, but not drinking it. He was examining a particularly garish costume that involved an excess of glitter and very little cloth with an imperceptible sneer curling the corner of his mouth. 

“It’s usually not for the first hour,” said Jim, honestly. He handed Spock a Milky Way. “Here.”

“What is this?”

“Candy.”

Spock unwrapped the candy and took a bite. He appeared to be analysing the flavor, nose wrinkling in just the slightest.

“As soon as you get a little inebriated,” Jim continued, after taking a swig of beer, “things start to get a little more enjoyable.”

“Vulcans do not get inebriated. We metabolize the ethanol before experiencing any intoxicating effects.”

“Seriously?” asked Jim, shocked. “Oh man, that sucks.”

“I will have more candy,” responded Spock.

Jim slid a couple more candy bars on the table to him. “Not sure you’re going to enjoy this very much, then, since the whole point of a pub crawl is to hit up multiple bars to get as drunk as possible.”

“I am willing to experience this tradition, although it is doubtful that I will find any enjoyment in the process.”

“Yeah,” said Jim, shoulders slumping just a bit.

“Vulcans do not feel joy,” explained Spock.

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve heard in awhile,” said Jim, finishing off half of his bottle. He knew he shouldn’t ascribe human emotions to nonhuman beings, but there were studies that showed happiness, in general, was found in most civilizations. Even Klingons got happy, although their happiness usually involved death and destruction. Jim considered bringing this up to Spock, but dismissed it as he imagined the response would go something like: Emotion cannot be measured, therefore any study claiming that happiness exists is faulty.

“On the contrary. Any emotion, even happiness, hinders logic.”

“Yeah,” said Jim, dubiously, as he watched Spock unwrap another candy wrapper to take a bite from the chocolate. “Got a sweet tooth, huh?”

“I find the flavor--interesting.”

Spock could find things interesting, or fascinating, or all sorts of other ‘ings’, but couldn’t feel happiness. Well. If anything could be said about James Kirk, it was that he never backed away from a challenge. He’d see that Spock would find his measure of happiness, even if it was just by surrounding him with ‘interesting’ and ‘fascinating’ artefacts.

Jim killed off the rest of his beer, burping quietly into his fist. “Alright, let’s go. We have five more bars we have to hit before the night was over!” He tossed a wink at the guy across the table. “Later, Cupcake.”

The guy shot to his feet, ignoring the way his date grabbed at his arm, but Jim just weaved his way through the crowd towards the door. If Jim had bothered to look over his shoulder, he would have seen Spock pause to look down at the angry man. He was a cadet, broad in the shoulders and so obviously filled with unnecessary rage. He would very likely follow after Jim, demanding retribution for his insult.

So Spock reached over, pinched the side of his neck, nodded a polite ‘goodnight’ to the shocked girl, and left the bar.

“What took you so long?” Jim asked when Spock finally exited the bar, amidst surprised shrieks.

“Where is the next bar?” asked Spock in response.

“High Five,” said Jim with a shrug, nodding down the street.

* * *

Leonard stumbled back several feet when Jim, of all people, practically slammed into his side.

“Jesus, kid!” Leonard yelped, swinging his hand holding an Andorian Ale up to avoid spilling it everywhere from Jim’s over-enthusiastic greeting. “Like a puppy,” he groused.

“Is that for me?” asked Jim, hopefully eying the ale. He was well past tipsy now, and very happy to be there.

Leonard sighed, handing him the drink. “What are you doing here?” 

“Doin’ the crawl with Spock!” said Jim cheerfully, then looked over his shoulder. “Oh, wait.” He disappeared back into the crowd, then reappeared a minute later, Spock in tow.

Spock--Spock who _licked_ some smudged chocolate off his finger.

“Jim?” asked Leonard, stunned.

“Hi, Bones!” said Jim, handing him back his Andorian Ale. “Here you go. I got another beer, so you can have this one back.”

Leonard looked between Jim and Spock, gaze stuttering and getting stuck on the Vulcan. Although he was not at sloppily drunk as Jim, he was _clearly_ not all put together.

“I didn’t know Vulcans could get drunk,” said Leonard, needing to shout a little to be heard over the din. “Your liver should metabolize it too quickly.”

“That is correct,” said Spock, then popped a bite-sized Twix into his mouth, sucking the chocolate off the tips of his fingers.

Leonard looked back at Jim. 

“It’s true,” said Jim, with a shrug. “He hasn’t had a drop to drink.”

“Oka-ay,” said Leonard, deciding he really did not need to know.

Jim pounded back the rest of his drink, handing the empty bottle to Leonard. He checked his watch, staring at it a little longer than required, then smiled messily at Leonard. “Gotta go, Bones! We still need to get through two more bars, and we only have thirty minutes! Meet you at Circus for the after party?”

“Sure,” said Leonard, shaking his head a little as Jim darted back into the crowd. He turned back to Spock, opening his mouth.

Whatever Leonard was about to say died on his tongue as he saw an angry man push his way through the crowd, clearly bent on getting to Jim and shouting something about how he was a ‘goddamn beer snatcher!’ He moved forward to intervene, but was beaten by Spock, who calmly reached forward and pinched the guy’s neck.

Spock stepped over the guy’s prone body, nodding at Leonard. “Good evening, Doctor.”

Leonard gaped after him as the crowd nearby began to freak out, panicking over the fallen man. For some reason, he could not shake the feeling that this wasn’t the first time Spock had knocked someone out that night.

“What happened?” Gaila asked, stepping over the unconscious guy without acknowledging the mayhem around her. She held a drink out to Leonard, saw that he was holding two empty bottles, took the bottles from him and handed them to a shocked bystander, then held out the drink again.

“Jim and Spock,” said Leonard, taking the drink. “It’d probably be best if we left the scene. Let’s head to Katie’s.”

Gaila beamed at him, linking her arm through his. Oh, she was so glad she ran into Leonard that night. He and his friends were just so _interesting_. “Lead on, doc!”

* * *

Jim woke up with a pounding headache. Instinctively, he reached up to grab his chest. When he did not encounter anything squishy, he exhaled a small breath of relief.

He swung his legs over the edge of his bed, rubbing at an eye. He remembered running into Bones last night, but after that was a blur. He had an uncomfortable feeling he forced Spock onto the dance floor at Circus. But Spock had been _compliant_ , not quite doing anything as lewd as grinding, or even dancing specifically with Jim, but dancing nonetheless. Jim theorized it was the candy, since Spock seemed to loosen up just a bit more with every piece of chocolate he ate.

Fascinating.

He glanced at the clock and groaned. Lab started in twenty minutes, giving him just enough time to shower and maybe grab a bagel. Predictably, Spock’s bed was neatly made. Well, if candy did make Spock intoxicated, it seemed he at least escaped the negative after effects that usually came after drinking alcohol.

Jim made it to the lab with three minutes to spare, brushing bagel crumbs off the front of his wrinkled uniform and taking the empty seat next to Spock. Spock _glared_ at him, making Jim scoot back just a bit.

“You okay there, Spock?”

“I am questioning my decision to associate with humans.”

Spock said ‘humans,’ but Jim correctly heard ‘James Tiberius Kirk.’

“Kolinahr is the obvious answer,” said Spock.

Jim wasn’t overly worried at Spock’s extreme solutions, since it looked as if there _were_ negative after effects of candy for Vulcans. It was the hangover speaking, like when Bones groaned about ‘never drinking again’ after a particularly rough night. “Purging all of your emotions might be overdoing it a little, buddy.”

Spock looked at him for a solid minute, then turned to the front of the lab. “I should be impressed at your knowledge of ancient Vulcan traditions, but I find I am not.”

“See? You’re already on your way back to being your emotionless Vulcan self,” said Jim cheerily.

“I am concerned, however, at the annoyance I am currently experiencing.”

Jim waved his hand flippantly, grinning privately to himself. “Don’t worry your little head about that too much. I’m pretty sure the Masters of Gol would even get annoyed at me after awhile, if I put my mind to it.”

Spock was prevented from both arguing the impossibility of this and expressing his frustration at Jim’s insistence in constantly surpassing Spock’s expectations by the teacher arriving. He spared one more glare for Jim, then turned back to the teacher.

“Here,” Jim whispered, and put a bite-sized Milky Way on the lab table in front of Spock. Spock stared at it, then back up at Jim, and Jim would swear on his mother’s estranged soul that there was more than a small amount of dread in those brown eyes.

Jim grinned.


	6. Chapter 6

Spock stared down at the artefact on top of his PADD. The design and material indicated that it was Klingon in origin. He lifted it and turned it over, examining the bottom. It appeared to be a type child’s puzzle, with several moving pieces for the user to twist. He found that if the user turned the top piece clockwise, they were jabbed with a tiny, yet brutally sharp spike. Thankfully, whoever left the gift had dulled the spike so that it would not break Spock’s skin. 

Fascinating. Though the trinket was just that--a trinket--it gave much insight into Klingon culture and childrearing. How much of Klingon cruelty came from their nature versus how they were raised? Before he could consider it further, he was interrupted by:

“Spock!”

Spock looked up from the trinket to Jim, who holding a box under one arm and grinning with all of his teeth. Jim spotted the toy and reached out to take it from Spock. He twisted the top clockwise three times--and was thus jabbed three times--and then solved the rest of the puzzle with four practiced moves. He didn’t even bother to set his box down.

“Neat toy,” he said almost dismissively, setting it to the side. He shook his wounded hand a little ruefully. “Klingon, right? Mean bastards. Where did you get it?”

It had not occurred to Spock to wonder who had left it in their room, but now he did. Before he could look into the logs, however, Jim was speaking again.

“Hey, so we haven’t had a rematch yet, right? So I figured since we live with each other, there’s really no reason to trek to the rec room every time we want to play a game.” He held the box towards Spock with both hands, as if offering a gift.

“You have purchased a tridimensional chess set,” observed Spock.

“Bingo.” Jim’s grin grew until he was practically beaming. “Care to get your ass handed to you again?”

“I believe the human saying is, ‘I will make you eat those words’.”

Jim laughed in delighted surprise, shaking his head. “You’re one of a kind, Spock,” he said, pulling the desk away from the wall to set up the tridimensional chess set. The Klingon toy sat forgotten on the window sill.

* * *

Everything came to an end on Sunday. 

Spock had not realized there was anything to end until it happened. They stood across from each other in the simulation room. 

“You cannot simply rewrite _Kobayashi Maru’s_ code in order to pass the test,” said Spock. Hours of hard work erased simply because Jim was too proud to fail. “That is cheating.”

Jim’s hands were in fists at his sides, but his voice was still calm. “I don’t believe in no-win scenarios.”

“You have failed to comprehend the purpose of the test.”

“Enlighten me.”

“The purpose is to experience certain death and to test how the potential captain will handle the fear, if they can maintain control of the situation and the crew. You of all people should understand that there are situations where a captain may face no-win scenarios.”

“I of all people…” Jim repeated, his voice going soft in disbelief. His eyes narrowed. “My father _died_ , Spock!”

“Your father was killed in action. Is that not a no-win scenario?”

Jim’s mouth fell open just the slightest. “You just…” he said, trailing off. 

For a long moment, Jim stared at Spock’s face, searching for something. When he did not find what he was looking for, he turned around and walked out of the simulation room.

When Spock returned to their room an hour later, his access code to his room remained the unchanged, although the mess of Jim’s clothing on his side of the room indicated he had returned. Jim was being illogical. He had above average intelligence for a human; surely he would soon understand the reason behind Spock’s test.

Jim did not return that evening. The tridimensional set sat in the middle of their room, game unfinished. Spock moved a piece, thinking that maybe Jim would rise to the challenge when he returned, then went back to his studies.

Jim did not join them for dinner that night. McCoy was also conspicuously absent, but it was Jim’s lack of presence that was most felt. 

“Where’s Jim?” Chekov asked. All eyes turned to Spock expectantly.

Spock said nothing, choosing instead to dedicate all of his attention to his salad. The dinner was quiet after that.

Spock had ample opportunity to meditate that evening, but as the hours passed he found that he could not maintain even a light trance. The clock read 2 a.m. Jim was never out this late the day before classes.

Jim did not return that night. The tridimensional set remained untouched. His access codes were unchanged. Spock stared down at Jim’s untouched bed. If Jim could not see reason, then Spock was better off not associating with him.

Jim did not return that evening, either.

* * *

“Spock!” his mother greeted, pleased as ever that he called. 

“Spock?” she repeated, doing a doubletake. Her eyebrows went up when at whatever she saw on Spock’s face. He carefully schooled his features. “Did something happen?”

“I have merely come across more evidence to support the theory that humans are overly emotional, illogical, excessive creatures that refuse to accept reason over sentiment.”

“Oh,” said Amanda, eyebrows drawing together in concern. “Did something happen with your roommate?”

“This is the second time you have alluded to Jim in our conversations without me even mentioning him. Why is that?”

“Well, he’s your friend, isn’t he?”

Friend. Spock considered how Jim acted around his friends. For all that he laughed and played with them, he was also fiercely loyal, even when they threatened him. In turn, the true ones were loyal to him. Spock thought about his own interactions with Jim, the quiet chess games that Jim won in a ratio of five to two, the debates they had over algorithms, and even the time when Spock unwisely let himself become inebriated while they engaged in nonsensical Halloween traditions.

“Vulcans do not have friends.”

“Oh,” said Amanda. He identified the emotion on his mother’s face as sadness. “I don’t believe that’s true.”

“Engaging in friendship involves creating bonds outside of one’s family or one’s mate. While familial and mating bonds are necessary to rear children, a bond created through friendship has no such purpose and is therefore redundant.”

“Now that I _know_ is untrue,” said Amanda, now sounding fierce.

“Elaborate.”

Amanda examined Spock, determined but still sad. “Sometimes, bonds between friends can be just as strong--if not stronger--than familial bonds.” Amanda sighed when Spock's face remained blank. 

“I know you don’t understand now, Spock, but you will one day.”

“I understand,” said Spock.

“You don’t.” Amanda smiled at him. “I think you will, if you continue to associate with this ‘Jim.’ You should resolve whatever argument you have with him.”

Spock forced himself to relax when he felt his jaw tighten. He did not understand why it fell to him to resolve anything with Jim--Kirk. It was Kirk who deleted all of his code, because Kirk was ruled by his emotions. If anyone should ‘resolve their argument,’ it should be Kirk.

He should have known better than to broach the subject with his mother, since she was prone to such fantastical ideas.

“Good night, Mother.”

Amanda sighed, but still smiled at him, if a little sadly. “Good night, Spock.”

Spock closed the transmission.

* * *

“You’re being a gigantic girl.”

“I find myself insulted by that,” said Gaila, from Bones’ bed.

“Gaila’s right. You are an insult to giant girls.”

“Not much better, doc.”

“I know, I know,” said Jim, interrupting the argument before it could really begin by flopping down next to Gaila. “I don’t even know why I’m so pissed off, honestly. I just feel so--” He wanted to say betrayed, but it was too strong of a word for his two friends to understand. How could he explain that he had spent his entire life having his dad shoved into his face, used as an example, a threat, or an absent role model, and that for Spock to be just like _everyone else_ \-- 

“--pissed off,” Jim finished, lamely.

“You knew he was a cold-hearted bastard since the beginning. I don’t get why you’re so surprised when he acts like, guess what, a cold-hearted bastard,” said Bones, almost accusingly. Jim glared at him.

“But he’s _not_ , okay? He’s not. He actually has a sense of humor, he’s great at chess, and he’s nice, all right? Sometimes, at least. Not to mention he’s incredibly intelligent and--” _handsome_ , Jim didn’t say, but by the way Bones and Gaila were gaping at him because he was gushing like a _teenager with a crush_ , they heard it anyway.

“Jim. Jimmy,” said Bones, eyebrows drawn together like he was _concerned_. “You are Jim in there, right? Not Janice?”

Jim smacked his arm.

“I always knew you liked ‘em green,” said Gaila, waggling her eyebrows as Bones rubbed his arm and glared at Jim. Jim flopped over and buried his face in Bones’ pillow.

“Look, you can either stop being a huge--” Bones glanced at Gaila and amended, “--baby and confront him about it, or you can stay here and continue to sulk that your crush was mean to you. You know my roommate practically lives with his girlfriend.”

“I don’t have a _crush_ on him,” Jim told Bones’ pillow.

“Yeah, and I’m not green,” Gaila muttered, and then squawked when Jim poked her side.

“So, what’ll it be? You gonna man up or hide here?”

Jim thought about how Spock’s human brown eyes hardened with disgust when he realized what Jim did to his code, and said with a self-recriminating groan, “Hide. Definitely hide.”

“I thought so,” Bones said, rolling his eyes. “Girl,” he murmured, not quietly enough for Gaila not to hear. Jim reveled in Bones’ yelp when Gaila punched his arm.

* * *

Kirk continued to make himself mostly absent the next day, but was unable to completely avoid Spock during their shared lab. He ignored Spock’s subtle attempts to get his attention (though perhaps the twitch to his left eyebrow was somewhat too subtle). Spock did not think it had went unnoticed, but Kirk continued to pretend like Spock had completely ceased existing.

Spock found he did not like that.

When the class ended, Kirk attempted to leave early, but he was no match for Spock's superior speed.

“Kirk,” he called. Kirk flinched at the reversion back to his surname and Spock believed for a moment that Kirk would actually flee, before he visibly pulled himself together. His blue eyes were like steel.

“Spock,” said Jim, voice cold. He seemed to have trouble looking Spock in the eye, focusing somewhere in the vicinity of his left ear.

“I have corrected my code.”

“Good for you,” said Jim, coolness quickly becoming surliness.

“Kirk, if you ever wish to become a captain, it will behoove you to understand that there are situations--”

“We are not having this conversation here,” Jim snapped. “Pike wouldn’t appreciate it if you and I had a throwdown in the middle of a hallway full of cadets.”

“I simply wish for you to understand that, as a captain in Starfleet, there is a twenty-five point three percent possibility that you will be facing a no-win scenario, as you should know considering your father--” Spock interrupted himself. It was a valid argument, one that Jim really _should_ take into consideration, but Spock remembered the hurt that radiated from Jim and revised what he was about to say. “The purpose of the _Kobayashi Maru_ is to test how one will handle certain defeat--”

“If I’m in a no-win scenario and have the _opportunity_ to cheat, I _will_!” Jim snapped, whirling on Spock. His eyes were practically electric with fury. “You seem to think my solution is unfair. If the only option I have in order to save hundreds of lives--even _one_ life--is by cheating, then I’m going to fucking cheat! Do you understand?”

And then Spock did understand. He had been so wrapped up in the injustice of Jim breaking the rules to beat Spock’s test--unfairly thinking that Jim was just too proud to fail a test--that he hadn’t considered Jim’s cheating as a solution in of itself. It was _innovative_. 

But Spock took too long to answer and Jim, incorrectly interpreting Spock’s silence as disagreement, said in a voice like acid, “You’re no different from anyone else.”

And then Spock had nothing to say at all, could only watch in dumb silence as Jim stormed away.


	7. Chapter 7

“Mother.”

Spock looked tired and, although he would never openly show it, Amanda detected a hint of sadness around the corners of his mouth. She struggled not to show her concern, knowing full well that it wouldn’t be appreciated. Instead, she waited.

It took Spock nearly a full minute and a half to start talking again. He was staring hard at her left shoulder, refusing to meet her eye. If Amanda didn’t know any better, she would think that Spock felt guilty. What _Spock_ could be guilty about completely eluded Amanda. Her son was never anything but completely logical, which usually just meant that he could talk his way out of any feelings, including guilt.

“I believe--” Spock started, then faltered, eyebrows drawing slightly together in consternation. “Humans are--”

“Irresponsible, excessive, and overly emotional?” Amanda teased gently.

Spock flinched, just barely, then straightened up to sit tall. “I have wronged another and wish to know how to rectify it.”

“Oh, Spock,” Amanda sighed. She was so, so proud of her son, but there were times she slightly regretted agreeing to only teach her son the Vulcan ways. It would have been good for him had he agreed to attend the VSA, but, well, he hadn’t, and now he was woefully underprepared to handle the most basic human interactions. She knew that, as much as she wished otherwise, her son’s excessive calling had more to do with hoping the one human in his life would help guide him, than his love for her. Not that she doubted his love, but Spock was like a deep sea fish yanked out of his familiar depths to flounder in a sea of inferior fishes.

And that metaphor might have gotten away from her

She shook her head once. “Don’t overthink it. Sometimes, ‘I’m sorry’ is enough.”

“He has been avoiding me."

Amanda shrugged. “So then find him."

* * *

As it so happened, finding Jim was easier than Spock had anticipated. He had not yet begun his search when he found the man in question in the laboratory.

Jim was hunched over a microscope, typing with one hand on his PADD without looking at it. He was so engrossed with his experiment that he did not even react to Spock’s presence, and Spock was loathe to interrupt him

Spock busied himself by calculating experimental uncertainties for one of his own tests when Jim’s low voice asked, “What are you doing here?”

Spock was conscious of the small amount of effort it took to control his reaction; although he did not quite jerk in surprise, Jim’s quiet question was not unlike a phaser shot in the dark, unexpected and somewhat alarming. Spock slowly set his stylus down.

“I am currently studying the effects of common Terran antimicrobials, such as penicillin, on--”

“Cut the crap,” Jim snapped, and Spock’s mouth closed around his next words. “I mean, what are you doing here, when _I’m_ here?"

Spock opened his mouth, but found that he didn’t quite have the right words to say that would make Jim look less furious. He had the acute feeling of frustration -- he was Vulcan, and should not be required to pander to overly emotional humans -- but yet he still found himself saying, "I find that I -- regret -- the outcome of our last interaction."

"You 'regret'," Jim repeated, lip curled in a sneer.  "I hate to break it to you, Spock, but 'regret' is a feeling, and Vulcans don't feel."

Jim was lashing out like a shelat who had been struck one too many times, going straight for the tender underbelly. Spock could feel his own frustration growing, but he tamped it down and remained silent.

Jim shoved out of his seat with a small noise of disgust, stalking over to where the vials were kept.

"And furthermore," Jim viciously ripped the top off one vial, "you--"

A sudden, piercing alarm shrieked through the relative stillness of the lab, causing both men to flinch.  Above them, a red biohazard light flickered and the glass doors slid shut. Jim looked down at the vial, then up at Spock. Spock looked back at Jim.

They scrambled to the decontamination shower, stripping out of their clothing without any qualms about privacy. Jim knocked over a stool as he attempted to pull one leg of his pants over his boot, before just brutally yanking them both off, ripping the bottom of his pants.

"Air purifiers have been activated," a cheery female voice announced in between the alarm's wails. "Please proceed to the safety showers while the air is being decontaminated. Thank you."

The shower was cramped, designed only for one full grown man, and it would have been uncomfortable and awkward if they both weren't frantically scrubbing themselves and rinsing their mouths under the scalding hot water.

The alarm died off after five minutes of destroying their sensitive ear drums, and the cheerful lady's voice said, "Unidentified microbes detected. Please remain calm as our systems analyze the sample. The air quality has been returned to normal. Standard quarantine procedures are in effect. Your patience is appreciated."

"What the hell was that?" Jim demanded, wrapping one of the thin towels around his waist. Goose pimples raised on his arms as the air purifiers pumped out fresh, clean air that smelled faintly of Terran citrus fruits.

"Insufficient data," said Spock, concentrating on regulating his temperature. Although shivering was a biological reaction necessary to maintain homeostasis and therefore logical, it was also undignified.

The lab's vidscreen beeped with an incoming comm, and Jim patched it through. The enlarged face of an older, surly gentleman whose most defining characteristic was the shock of white hair that stood on end. Had he a mustache, he would have bore an uncanny resemblance to the nineteenth century physicist Albert Einstein.

"What I want to know," the scientist said, in a hoarse, wheezy voice completely at odds with his fierce expression, "is how a couple of fools like the two of you got your hands on the microbes of what is apparently an ancient alien virus."

"But all I grabbed was a potassium nitrate solution--"

The man scoffed his disbelief, holding a hand up to stop any further protests. "Save it, Kirk. You idiots will just have to sit tight and hope this virus doesn’t affect humans. We’ll let you know when we deem it safe to end the quarantine."

"Understood, sir," Spock cut in, before Jim could continue his argument. The scientist scowled at him and cut the transmission, leaving Jim and Spock to shiver in miserable silence.

"I find it inconceivable that a Starfleet Academy laboratory would be storing a potent alien diseases with such negligence," Spock said, after several minutes of watching Jim dig through a closet.

"It's not like I brought it here," said Jim, waspishly.

Spock exhaled through his nose. If he were a human, it would have almost constituted as a sigh. He did not wish to continue the argument with Jim. He turned back to his experiment in an attempt to redirect his attention, but found that his ability to concentrate had decreased by twenty-point-three percent.

"Here." Jim shoved a white lab coat into Spock's face, who instinctively grabbed it before it smashed into his nose. Jim was wearing a similar lab coat, though it was still open. Spock pulled it on.

"Thank you," Spock said, which earned him an odd look but no 'you're welcome.'

They lapsed back into an uncomfortable silence, focusing on their respective experiments.

"Potassium nitrate is often used as fertilizer," Spock observed into the oppressive quiet.

"And food preservation," Jim said, voice tight.

Spock did not know what else to say. Jim was still angry with him, despite his attempted apology, and he had no idea how to proceed.

“There was--” Jim said, haltingly. He cleared his throat, fiddling with dials on the electron microscope. “There should have been enough food on Tarsus IV, despite the fungus that killed most of the crops.”

Spock’s head snapped up, but Jim wasn’t looking at him, focusing all of his attention on fiddling with the knobs on the microscope. It was careless to toy with such valuable equipment, but Spock found he did not care.

“You were on Tarsus IV,” Spock stated. He hoped he was wrong, _wished_ he was wrong, but Spock was Vulcan and therefore very rarely wrong.

“Wow, that’s--yeah, I don’t know why I’m surprised you’d jump to that conclusion,” Jim sighed.

“When you were recounting your tale about escaping Orion slavers, you mentioned that you were given a planet.”

“Good memory,” Jim said, chuckling without any mirth.

“Eidetic memory,” Spock corrected, and this time Jim’s smile appeared more real.

“Well, you got it in one. Tarsus IV.” Jim said the name of the planet as if it were ash in his mouth. He looked lost for a moment, with that same haunted expression Spock remembered from lunch. “If they had just preserved the remaining food, maybe it wouldn’t have been so..." He trailed off, dropping his hands to his lap.

“Jim,” Spock breathed. If he and Jim were closer, or if he were Dr. McCoy, perhaps he would know what to say.

“Anyway,” Jim said quickly, with cheerfulness so forced that even someone who spurned emotions could recognize it as contrived. “I don’t know why I even told you all that. Way to be a buzzkill, Kirk. Not like the atmosphere wasn’t doom and gloom enough already, what with the whole ancient alien virus. Anyway, that’s what the potassium nitrate was for. I--”

“Jim,” Spock interrupted, gently. “ _S'ti th'laktra_.”

Jim’s lips quivered slightly, his smile wavering. “What does that mean?”

“I grieve with thee.”

Jim looked sharply to the side, hands clenching and unclenching on the tops of his thighs.

“Oh,” he exhaled, and Spock wondered maybe if he said something wrong, when the vidscreen beeped with another incoming comm.

“Jesus Mary Joseph, kid. Only you would manage to get yourself infected with an ancient Romulan super flu,” McCoy griped when Jim accepted the comm. “You’re a menace.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jim said, impatiently waving a hand. “Are we still in quarantine or not?”

“Did you miss the part where I said ‘super flu’? You better hope your delicate flower of an immune system can fight this one off, Jim.”

Spock coughed into his fist.

Jim and McCoy turned slowly towards him, eyes wide in fascinated horror.

“You have got to be joking,” McCoy  groaned.

“Romulans and Vulcans share a common ancestor,” Spock explained, almost apologetically.

“Goddamn green-blooded--all right!” McCoy brandished a finger towards Spock, as if it were a lirpa. “You! Hang in there for the next two hours.”

“I do not believe I am capable of 'hanging' anywhere at the moment, Doctor," Spock said.

"Yeah, yeah, I don't need your smart ass remarks." McCoy lowered his eyebrows, looking almost as if he was concerned. "Two hours! Don't stress yourself, kid."

Before Spock could protest that he was older than McCoy, at least in human years, the screen went black.

"Fuck," said Jim.

* * *

By the time two hours came and went with no words from Bones, Jim was getting concerned in spite of himself. As Bones liked to often remind him, Spock’s blood was green, but right now he actually _looked_ green.

“Spock, are you okay?" Jim asked.

“I am--adequate," Spock said, although Jim could _see_ his hands trembling against the desk.

“So in Spock to English, you feel like ass.”

Jim knew it had to be bad, since Spock didn’t make any quip about how ‘derrieres do not possess emotions and anyway I am a Vulcan and therefore do not feel’ and instead just slumped forward, leaning his elbows against the table. This was unbearable. Someone wound as tight as Spock should never look so loose limbed, except maybe after sex.

“You should lie down, maybe?" Jim asked, and Spock shrugged. He _shrugged_. "Okay, you should definitely lie down."

"The virus is very--fast acting," Spock said, which, duh.

Jim went back to the supply closet to grab two more lab coats, draping them carefully over Spock's shoulders. No matter how annoyed he was at Spock, the guy was clearly miserable. Frankly, their little tiff was seeming more and more inconsequential in the face of _ancient Romulan super flus_.

"Jim," Spock said, sounding more tired than Jim had heard in all the months of living with the guy. "I wish to apologize to you."

"No, Spock, look--"

"Although I believed at the time that the events on the Kelvin supported my argument, I see now that I was in error. Moreover, I regret that I caused you pain."

"Seriously, Spock," Jim said, embarrassed now. "I think unleashing an ancient Romulan super flu on you was retribution enough."

"You are highly illogical." Spock's lips twitched, as if he was about to smile, but then his face slackened and his eyes drifted shut. He swayed back once, then it was as if all the strings that held Spock up were cut and once and he slumped forward onto the table.

“Spock?” Jim asked, hesitantly reaching forward to touch his shoulder. When Spock didn’t even tense under his touch, Jim tried shaking him, just a little. “Spock? You’re scaring me.”

Hesitantly, as if nervous at what he may or may not find there, Jim pressed his fingers against Spock’s pulse points, only to immediately yank them back with a hiss. It was like touching a block of ice. Jim gritted his teeth and pressed his whole hand on Spock’s neck.

There was nothing.

“No--” Jim said, yanking Spock around so that he slouched back against the back of the table, head lolling to the side. He looked undone, like he had one too many Snickers bars and was sleeping off their effect. Except Jim had seen Spock inebriated, and even then he was more put together than Jim on a good day. He pressed his hand against Spock’s chest.

Nothing.

“No. _No_. Don’t you dare, you mother fucker! Spock! _Spock_! Spock, _please_.”

* * *

“We are never speaking of that again,” Jim said, three hours later, as Bones came to his side. Medical officers and nurses bustled by them, a handful of brave souls daring to smile at Bones. Bones, of course, ignored them.

“You mean, how you commed Captain Pike in a total panic when you couldn’t get a hold of me, since I was, you know, doing more important things besides sitting by my comm, waiting for you to call?” And, since Bones was a mean bastard, he added, “Like, making sure the antiviral would work on a non-Romulan who also happens to be a hybrid.”

“Did we not just agree to never speak of this?”

“Yeah, and I just made myself embarrassed on your behalf,” Bones said, a little green. “Jesus. Anyway, kid, I just came out here to tell you that your little Vulcan’s awake.”

“He’s not my--he--” Jim sighed, shoulders slumping. “Thanks.”

“Anytime. He’s going to be fatigued for the next couple of days, but he’ll be right as rain in no time, promise. No need to worry your pretty little head.” Bones clapped him on the shoulder, shaking him once, then shoved him lightly in the direction of Spock’s room.

Spock was sitting up in his bed, sheets pooled around his waist. Jim didn’t know if he was fooling himself (he probably was), but he could have sworn Spock’s eyes softened just the slightest, the most infinitesimal bit, when he saw Jim.

“Dr. McCoy was just informing me about your concern.” Spock’s eyes crinkled at the corners. Bastard was definitely amused. So Jim might have reacted a little--strongly (he panicked)--but he had watched Spock _die_. Sort of die. Okay, so apparently he wasn’t even close to dying and Jim was just an idiot, but he had _thought_ Spock had died.

“You two gossiping about me, now?” Jim pulled a chair up to the side of Spock’s bed, straddling it to lean his arms against the back.

"I find it perplexing that you know about the Masters of Gol, but that you did not know that Vulcan hearts are located on our sides."

"Shut up.”

“Nor were you aware of Vulcan healing trances.”

“Shut up! I was really concerned," Jim snapped, turning his face away to hide his blush.

There was a gentle touch to his shoulder. Jim whipped back around, eyes wide. While Jim had been his usual tactile self before the Great _Kobayashi Maru_ Fall Out, grabbing his shoulder, his arm, and one time, with interesting results, his hand, Spock had never touched Jim. Well, except to grab his face that one time, but he was in Janice Lester’s body at the time so it didn’t count.

“Thank you,” Spock said.

Jim just knew he was still blushing, which was really lame. He never blushed, and yet here he was, red as a preteen when asked to her first dance.

“Ah jeez, Spock,” sighed Jim, scrubbing his cheeks. “Just, nevermind. We’re cool, right?”

“The ambient temperature is approximately twenty-six-point-five degrees Celsius, which while adequate for Vulcans, is usually uncomfortable for humans. If you are still chilled--”

“No, no, I mean--I forgive you.”

“Ah,” Spock said, and the smile actually reached his lips this time. It was small, but it still punched Jim in the gut. “I am glad.”

“Yeah, well.” Jim cleared his throat, patting Spock’s wrist. Spock’s fingers twitched, but he didn't pull away. Jim thought maybe they were making progress.

“Jim, I am curious,” Spock said, which surprised Jim. Spock was _always_ curious, but he never admitted it out loud. Being sick really brought out a Vulcan’s inner emotions. Spock even looked curious, eyebrows dipped down. “Although it is not unreasonable for a Federation Academy to keep alien viruses on site for research purposes, it is unlikely one so potent would be so carelessly stored."

“You think it might have been planted.” Spock inclined his head and Jim nodded back. “I thought so, too, so I checked the logs. They’ve been wiped.”

Something flashed across Spock’s face--anger? fear?--before his lips tightened and he said, “It is a logical conclusion, then, that some unknown entity wishes to do your or me harm.”

“Yeah.”

“We should alert the proper authorities.”

“No.”

Spock blinked. Jim shrugged and said, "They won't be able to do anything. We have no evidence, nor even a suspect."

"Logically--"

"Trust me on this: you can't logic your way through the legal system. You need concrete support."

"You speak from experience."

Jim grinned ruefully but didn't rise to the bait. "If someone wants one of us dead, they'll attack again. Bam: evidence."

Spock remained unconvinced. "It is dangerous."

"Danger is my middle name."

"Your middle name is Tiberius," protested Spock.

"No it's--never mind. Look, let's just wait a week and see what happens, okay? Trust me." Jim grinned at him. "What could go wrong?"


	8. Chapter 8

"So you were a rebel, huh?" Jim asked, moving his pawn up a level. It was a week after the attack and they were in the recreational room with Jim's chess set. They had spent the past five-point-seven days tracking down possible leads and combing through the logs, but their efforts to find their would be killer was frustrated on all counts. Perhaps, Spock thought, it really was careless storage. Humans were not known for their attention to detail.

"Your human concept of rebellion is not applicable to Vulcans," Spock said, and took Jim's knight, successfully destroying Jim's transparent attempts strategy.

Jim scowled at the board. "Has anyone told you that you play an irritating game of chess?"

Spock did not smile smugly as Jim would have, but Jim must have seen something on his face because he puffed out his cheeks and moved a random pawn.

"Anyway, I recall you mentioning something about not being a paragon of Vulcan propriety," Jim said, as Spock studied the board. Although Jim's move had appeared senseless, there was something about the arrangement of his pieces-- Abruptly, Spock realized that three of his four long term attacks would be useless within the next five moves. 

Spock was conscious of an unintentional tightening of his jaw, but he schooled his expression when he noticed Jim smirking. There would be none of that.

"As you likely already know, I turned down a position at the Vulcan Science Academy and chose to attend Starfleet," Spock said, reevaluating his strategy and then moving his bishop up a level.

Jim moved his knight. "I'll have you checkmated in five moves. Why did you turn it down?"

For several moments, Spock found he could not speak. He stared at the board, replaying Jim's last move. Jim had somehow, and without Spock even realizing it, manipulated the game to his favor. If Spock did not want to lose, he would need to sacrifice his queen. 

Jim took her with a triumphant and absolutely remorseless grin.

"It would have been illogical to dedicate my research and future achievements to a group of individuals who believed me to be inferior due to my heritage," Spock said, and then paused. It was unlike him to reveal such a private affair. Perhaps it was an aftereffect of having all of his strategies so thoroughly and carelessly annihilated. Spock thought that maybe this was Jim’s strategy to get him to speak of personal matters.

"You're fucking kidding me," Jim said, flatly. He appeared to be angry -- and, Spock realized with something akin to alarm, growing more furious by the second. "They thought you were -- inferior --" He spat the last word, face screwed up in disgust.

"As you know, half of my genetic material comes from a human," Spock explained, in an attempt to mollify him.

Jim smacked a rook down so hard the entire board rattled, and a pawn fell from the third level. Jim ignored it. Spock put it back, since it was one of his pieces. "That -- just -- can I go to Vulcan to kick some ass?"

"It is unnecessary," Spock said. He looked to the side, for some reason unable to meet Jim’s eye. Spock knew that Jim was loyal of his friends to the point of self-sacrifice; he had just never anticipated that level of protectiveness to ever be directed at him. It was -- unexpected to feel like he was worth more than just his intellect to someone. Unexpected, and startlingly exhilarating. He ruthlessly tamped the unseemly emotion down. "I find that I am satisfied with the outcome. Had they not expressed their beliefs, I would not have enrolled in Starfleet Academy."

Jim exhaled through his nose. "That's true. I still want to kick some Vulcan ass, but I am glad you're here," he said, smiling warmly.

Then Jim said, "Checkmate."

Spock looked at Jim.

Jim grinned.

"Now who's irritated?" Jim asked.

"Irritation is a human emotion," Spock said, resetting the board.

Jim laughed, a bright and happy sound that made Spock still, and then Jim suddenly stopped laughing. When Spock looked at him, Jim's mouth was slightly parted and his eyes were wide, as usual displaying his emotions in such an obvious and human manner. Spock was wondering just what emotion Jim was feeling now -- he appeared almost wondering, but Spock could not deduce why -- when Jim jerked to his feet, knee jarring the bottom of the table and toppling four pawns and a bishop.

"Yeah, sorry, I'm gonna have to take a raincheck on a rematch," Jim mumbled, pulling on his jacket.

“Did I do something to cause offense?” Spock asked, perplexed. He considered their conversation from all angles, but could not recall anything he said that would have resulted in such an abrupt departure. However, it would not be the first time -- nor would it be the last time -- that he unintentionally offended a human by being too Vulcan.

“No! No. I just remembered something I had to do.” Jim smiled and his eyes were still friendly, so Spock nodded. It would be beneficial for him to take this time to meditate; he should not feel such a keen sense of disappointment. It was merely chess.

“I’ll see you later, Spock,” Jim said with a tight little wave, then practically bolted away.

It was during his inexplicable mad dash to the door that Jim collided with a blonde cadet making her way into the rec room. There was a moment of confusion that nearly resulted in the girl tumbling backwards, but Jim grabbed her shoulders and steadied her. Spock got to his feet to help, but paused when he realized it was not necessary, nor wanted. 

The girl tilted her head back to look at Jim, lips slightly parted and eyes wide.

Spock sat back down.

He placed the chess pieces one by one back in the case, watching the interaction from under lowered eyebrows. He could not see Jim’s face, but something he said, too quiet for Spock to hear, had the cadet’s face lighting up.

The queen’s scepter snapped in Spock’s hand.

Yes, thought Spock, carefully placing the queen and her broken scepter in the case, perhaps he should meditate.

* * *

Elizabeth Dehner did blonde bombshell and genius psychiatrist with cheerful and efficient brutality. She had absolutely no problems with grilling Jim about the Duke-Heidelburg quotient while simultaneously kicking his ass at cards or discussing her medical thesis on esper-oriented beings. Even _Bones_ liked her, saying with a touch of admiration that she had, in a purely Spockian manner, shut down some poor shmuck of a professor in the medical track without any remorse. She was brilliant and beautiful and everything Jim would have looked for in a woman, but, well. Jim liked her, and she was obviously swayed by the infamous Kirk charm, but he had no interest in pursuing anything more than an easy friendship. 

For one thing, when he and Elizabeth parted ways after a lighthearted lunch one Wednesday afternoon, Gary had sprung out of nowhere to accost him in the halls.

“How do you know Dehner?” Gary demanded.

“Liz?” Jim shrugged. “You know how it is. We just started hanging out. Why? You like her?”

“You mean, that walking icebox?” Something ugly curled at the corner of Gary’s lips, making Jim stare. He had never seen an expression like that on his friend’s face. “She turned me down.”

“Oh man, hey,” Jim said, eyes widening. “It’s not like that, I swear. We’re just friends.”

“She seems to like you _like that_ ,” Gary said, sulkily.

It was true, but it wasn’t like Jim could help if someone was attracted to him. He was careful not to lead her on, keeping a friendly distance, not encouraging any of the subtle (and not so subtle) hints she threw his way. 

But Jim really did like her, and anyway he appreciated the distraction. The Case of the Romulan Super Flu was was still forefront in his mind, although nothing. was. happening. He had been so sure that whoever planted the vial would attack again, but instead there was just a whole lot of radio silence. He should be relieved; he thought maybe Spock had decided that it really was just a mistake, but Jim knew better. No one would clean up after themselves so thoroughly if it were just a mistake. Sitting on his hands was incredibly frustrating, but spending time with his friends was a good distraction, be it drinking with Bones, chess with Spock, or lunch with Liz.

So he just reassured Gary that nothing was going on between him and Liz and continued to hang out with her. Gary sulked, but they weren’t in fucking grade school anymore so he could just get over it.

The second reason that Jim kept things platonic was one he wouldn't admit to anyone, most definitely not to himself. Elizabeth Dehner wasn’t, well, _Vulcan_ enough.

* * *

Liz took a swig of her coffee, but it must have been too hot because her eyes widened and she fanned her face desperately.

Jim laughed. “Classy.”

“Oh sure, laugh at the wounded,” Liz huffed, dabbing at the corners of her mouth.

“Take the lid off, it’ll cool quicker,” Jim said, grabbing her cup to do it for her.

“How logical.”

Jim grinned. “Well, rooming with a Vulcan does that to you.”

“I’m not going to taste anything for a week,” Liz sighed, taking her cup back to blow on the steaming coffee. 

Classes had been steadily picking up pace, professors desperately trying to cram an entire semester of information into one week in preparation for exams. Jim had been grateful for the excuse to take a break when he received Liz’s slightly frantic message of, **Let’s get coffee before I throw Professor Van Gelder out the window.**

“Anyway,” Liz said, after taking a cautious sip. “Before I do anything else to lessen myself in your eyes, what are you doing for Christmas?”

It was testament to how chaotic his life had become that Jim hadn’t even realized that Christmas was just around the corner. He shrugged. “Probably spending it with Spock." 

Actually, Jim had no idea what Spock was doing for Christmas, but he figured (hoped) that, like Jim, he would just need to make a few comms and then would be free to do whatever, and might want to (hopefully) do whatever with Jim.

"Oh," Liz said, smile dimming.

Jim winced. “Liz, look--”

Liz threw up a hand to stop Jim from finishing that horrible sentence. “Oh god, please don’t give me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech. I don’t want to slap you, but I will if I have to.” She sighed. "It's fine, Jim. I just thought I'd give it a shot, and I knew it was going to be a long one, what with how you're always going on about that Vulcan roommate of yours."

"I don't--that's not--" Jim sighed. "Was I that obvious?"

"Aw, it's cute you thought you were being subtle."

"You are a horrible person,” said Jim, though he was grinning in relief. After Gary threw his little fit, Jim had been somewhat worried that maybe he had accidentally led Liz on.

Speaking of...

"Gary should be coming back early, if you're going to be around," Jim said, wingmanning from afar. "He's a good guy."

"Oh you mean before or after he called me a frigid bitch when I turned him down?” said Liz, lip curling in a disgusted sneer. “Sorry, but I can do better."

"You're kidding," Jim said, flatly.

"No, I definitely can." Liz recapped her coffee. "No offense Jim, I know he's your friend, but the guy's a prick."

"He must be going through some issues I don't know about," Jim said, uncertainly. 

"Yeah, the issue of too much ego." Liz swung her bag over her shoulder and stood, dropping a quick kiss on Jim's cheek. "Your Vulcan's a lucky guy." 

"I can talk to Gary--"

"Oh God, please don't. I'll see you later, alright? Got Temporal Mechanics." She frowned. "Have you ever had Professor Vassbinder before? Strange dude."

With that, she whirled out of the cafe, leaving Jim to frown into his coffee.

* * *

But then, on a lazy and dreary Thursday morning, Jim fucked up so royally that Gary Mitchell being a dick to Elizabeth Dehner was put right out of his mind, possibly forever.

The problem with keeping things strictly platonic with Liz and silently crushing on Spock like a teenager was that Jim was getting far less action than he had in, well, years. He stretched languidly, skin pleasantly buzzing from a good night’s sleep and hazy, half-remembered dreams about pale green skin and curious dark eyes. He didn't normally--take matters into his own hands in their shared room, feeling a little like he would be jerking off in a public place, but Spock's bed was empty and anyway Jim knew he was in class, since it was the same class Jim was supposed to be in. It was just review, anyway. Jim wasn’t worried.

He _could_ go to their shared bathroom, but he was feeling way too comfortable and way too lazy. He couldn’t even be assed to grab the bottle of lube from under his bed, instead just licking his hand before slipping it into his pajama pants.

Jim made it a rule never to think about any of his friends while jerking off, but if his mind kept supplying him with images of pointed ears, well, no one needed to know. 

He sighed through a languid orgasm and relaxed into his pillow. For several minutes he lazed about, enjoying the afterglow, before he swung his legs over the side of his bed and tottered to the bathroom to clean off, humming quietly to himself. Masturbating wasn't nearly as fun as sex, and hardly even took off the edge, but orgasms were always fun.

“If you must engage in coitus, I insist you and your partner conduct your activities away from our quarters.”

Jim performed an advanced acrobatic twist about three feet in the air, knocking over a bottle of after shave and a tube of toothpaste. He gaped at Spock through the open bathroom door, crumpled tissue still in hand. Spock stood stiffly at the entrance to their room, hands clasped behind a back so straight that Spock was very nearly standing to attention.

Spock looked -- Spock looked _pissed_ , eyebrows dipped so low his black eyes were nearly in shadow. An entirely inappropriate shiver went up Jim's spine, even though he had _just_ jacked off.

Color slowly bled into Jim’s cheeks. “Um, right,” he said, wishing the ground would open up right about now, “how did you, uh, know, that I was conducting sexual activities?”

“Human musk is extremely potent.”

Oh buggering hell in a handbasket. Spock _smelled_ Jim’s sex. Fuck. “And, um,” continued Jim, the blush spreading down his neck until it was a full body flush. “You think that there were--multiple people engaged in ‘coitus’.”

This gave Spock a pause. His nostrils flared slightly. Jim saw the exact moment that Spock realized that Jim’s early morning fun involved all of one person.

Jim thought that this was probably the most embarrassing thing to happen to him, ever.

“I’m--going to take a shower right now,” said Jim, quickly.

“Yes,” said Spock. Jim shut the bathroom door.

* * *

“It is not biologically imperative for a human to seek release without another partner present,” said Spock the next morning, because apparently, he wanted to _prolong_ the embarrassment. He set his tray next to Jim’s. 

“Oh my God,” said Jim.

Bones choked on his coffee. Jim had refused to give any explanations when he appeared at Bones’ door the day before, red as a tomato and wild eyed. He had continued to refuse to give any explanation, even as he dragged Bones along in his bid to drown his humiliation with all of the alcohol in the Federation. 

“What,” Bones said, horrified, but his lips were twitching and Jim just knew the mean fucker was one step away from hysterics.

“Is there any way I can get you to go away?” Jim asked Bones.

“There is nothing on God’s green Earth that would make me move at this very moment,” said Bones, gleefully.

Jim tried Spock. “If I promise to never, ever do it again, can we stop talking about this like, _right now_?”

“If sexual release performed by oneself is not required for the human species’ survival, why do it?” said Spock, completely ignoring Jim’s plea.

“That’s a no, then,” Bones said, happily.

Spock waited expectantly.

Jim stared at the ceiling. His cheeks were red again. How the hell was he supposed to explain the birds and the bees--let alone the bees and their own--stingers--to an adult Vulcan?

“I can answer that one for you,” said Bones, raising his hand. Dickhead. “Because it’s fun.”

“Vulcans do not have ‘fun’.”

“It’s a stress reliever,” Jim interrupted, before Bones and Spock could go for each others’ throats. “Sometimes, when you’ve got a lot going on, something’s got to give.”

Spock nodded. “I understand.” Then he said, to disprove himself, “But why would you not involve a partner?”

“It just means that Jimmy here batted zero.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Clarify.”

“He couldn’t _get_ a partner, so he turned to his hand.”

“I could have!” Jim protested, because _hey_. He was just currently going through a minor sexual crisis--not that he ever had a crisis over wanting a woman, or a man, or even an alien. No, it was only when he wanted a Spock.

Bones looked at Jim, then back at Spock. “Sorry, my mistake. He could have, but is too hung up on someone else to have.”

“Fascinating,” said Spock, who was clearly drawing _all the wrong conclusions_.

“Okay, that’s about as much as I can take,” said Jim, standing up quickly. “I’m going to class.”

“You do not have class for another forty minutes.”

“I’m going for a _run_ , then!” said Jim, as Bones finally gave in and burst into hysterical laughter.

“Don’t mind him, Spock,” Bones wheezed out.

“What’s going on?” Gaila asked as she, of course, decided this would be a perfect time to join the festivities.

“We are discussing the merits of onanism,” Spock said.

“Oh.” Gaila’s eyes lit up. She shot a knowing, way too smug look at Jim and took the seat next to Bones. “I am an _expert_ in onanism.”

Any good captain knew when it was time for retreat. Jim retreated the fuck out of there.

* * *

It was impossible to avoid someone for the rest of your life when you lived with the guy, but Jim made a go at it, anyway. He made a point to put his headphones in whenever Spock opened his mouth with an intent look in his eye that promised years of extensive therapy. 

It helped that they were both busy; Spock running several experiments at once while simultaneously completing the _Kobayashi Maru_ and preparing for winter exams. Jim was also preparing--if by ‘preparing,’ you meant ‘casually flipping through data PADDs.’

Eventually, Spock let the subject rest, and Jim gradually crawled out of his hole of humiliation for long enough ace all of his exams and to eat. Since Spock was pure evil (or pure logic, Jim was learning that these were interchangeable), he ignored Jim’s self-imposed isolation and persisted on joining him for dinner.

"We're missing something," Jim said one evening, deciding to take control of the conversation before Spock could start talking about _onanism_ , for God’s sake. 

The cafeteria was mostly empty, the majority of the students having gone home for the holiday break. Spock was eating his customary bright orange soup and, out of deference to one friend who was a hypochondriac paranoid and another who was a vegetarian, Jim had made himself a salad. He tried to make it as unsalad-like as possible, loading it up with croutons and and ranch and other accessories, but it still too green for his taste. Not that he had any problems with green, in fact, he was finding that he was quite fond of it, but he was decidedly not sexually attracted to his salad. Not like he would be to, say, a burger.

"Clarify."

"I mean, about the Romulan super flu. We've been thinking too much about the method and not enough about the motive," Jim said, crunching into a crouton. He had been meaning to talk to Spock about the attack for awhile now, but had been too busy avoiding him. "We need to focus on the 'why' instead of the 'how'."

"That is logical," Spock said, and even though Spock's inflection didn't change, Jim could tell by the slight pause that Spock was surprised. Rude.

"I guess it's not hard to figure out why someone would want to kill me," Jim said, ruefully. "Misguided envy. People thinking they could do a better job than me at being me. Pissed off ex. Or maybe my mom pissed someone off, that would be a new and exciting alternative."

Spock's eyebrows tilted down, unimpressed by all the many and varied reasons people might want to kill Jim. Jim shrugged. "People either really, really love me or really, really want me dead. There's no in between."

"As for me," Spock said, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin, "there is no logical reason for someone to want to kill me. However, it is possible that one might have an extreme prejudice to my species. Or perhaps Professor Vassbinder was more infuriated with me than first realized."

"Professor Vassbinder, the Temporal Mechanics professor? Liz was saying that the guy's a little kooky."

Spock's lips tightened at the corners. If Jim didn't know any better, he'd think Spock looked annoyed. That Professor Vassbinder must have done a number on him.

"I still do not comprehend why you would indulge in onanism," said Spock, apropos of _absolutely nothing._

"Oh my god Spock, seriously?" Jim slid a hand down his face. He didn't know why Spock was so worried, since it wasn't like Jim was going to jerk off ever again.

"It is illogical to indulge in such a base action if you have an alternative."

"It's not that complicated, Spock. I was horny and, contrary to whatever untrue and baseless rumor you might have heard, I don't drop my pants for every pretty smile. So I took matters into my own hand, if you know what I mean." 

He attempted a leer, but it was weak and came out more like a wince. Goddammit, Spock. Jim briefly entertained the idea of kicking him in the shin, but Spock would probably just bitch at him for being juvenile.

“I do not,” said Spock.

Jim groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “Look, Spock, it’s impossible explain. If you want to know so bad, try it out yourself.”

Jim’s eyes widened and he snapped his head back up to gape at Spock. “No, wait, I mean--”

“Your point is valid,” Spock said.

“It is?”

“I will consider your advice.”

“You will?” Jim said, weakly.

“Yes.”

“Oh, okay.” Jim thought his eyes might pop right out of his head, but Spock just calmly ate the rest of his soup.

 _Vulcans_ , Jesus.

* * *

Spock made it a point not to discuss onanism again, knowing that his curiosity was bringing Jim no end of discomfort. Even a week after the incident, Jim still appeared ready to bolt, although they had barely even begun their game of chess and were discussing the completely innocuous topic of warp core mechanics.

"So, Christmas," Jim said, in an utter non sequitur to their previous conversation. He sounded a touch nervous.

Spock waited patiently, but when Jim didn't add anything further, Spock said, "Vulcans do not celebrate Christmas."

"Yeah, neither do I. Want to not celebrate Christmas together?"

“That sentence does not make sense,” Spock protested.

Jim shrugged, fiddling with a pawn. It was unlike him to be so bashful. “You know, grab some burgers and plomeek soup. Watch 20th century Christmas movies.”

“It is my understanding that humans prefer to spend holidays with persons for whom they -- care.”

It was Jim’s turn to puzzle over Spock’s sentence, which was unjust because it was perfectly grammatically correct. Spock saw the moment Jim understood, his cheeks almost immediately taking on a pink hue. Fascinating. In the past fifteen-point-six days, even before the incident Spock was making a point not to bring up, Spock had noticed a twenty-point-three percent increase of facial vasodilation, which resulted in a faint red stain across the upper part of Jim’s cheeks. Spock knew that blushing was associated with emotional stress, more commonly corresponding with embarrassment, but also caused by anxiety, anger, or -- romantic interest.

“Well, yeah,” Jim said, staring determinedly at the chess board.

“Are you not spending Christmas with Dr. Dehner?” Spock asked.

“What?” Jim asked, blinking at him. “No. Liz and I are just friends.”

“Are we also friends?”

Something tightened around Jim’s eyes and he looked away again, lips twisting in a small moue of disappointment. Spock straightened. He seemed to have the singular ability to unintentionally say something to wound this man. It was -- dissatisfactory.

“You’re my friend,” Jim said, and Spock heard the unspoken question: _Am I yours?_

“Vulcans do not have friends,” Spock said, noticing the way Jim’s shoulders slumped at his words. “However, as you are with many things in your life, Jim, I believe you are an outlier.”

It took a moment for Jim to look back up at him, and when he did it was slowly. A small smile stretched across his lips grew until he was beaming at Spock. “You know, you could have just said, ‘you’re my friend too, Jim’.”

“That is what I said.”

Jim laughed, a joyous sound that rang through Spock like a cathedral bell. He found himself leaning forward, drawn into the gravity of Jim Kirk, and was conscious of a slight prickle at the back of his neck that indicated a vasodilatory response of his own.

“Hey,” said Jim suddenly, sounding surprised. “What happened to the queen’s scepter?”


	9. Chapter 9

The Christmas spirit was in full swing at Starfleet Academy. Although the majority of the student body had left for the holidays, the remaining cadets had taken it upon themselves to decorate the hallways. Cole thought it looked a little like the North Pole had exploded all over the campus, but who was he to judge?

Cole settled back into his chair with a PADD and a cup of coffee from the cafe down the street. He had no appointments this afternoon, but Cole liked to keep his doors open for the cadets who needed help. Not like that bastard Adams, who took off to El Nido before exams had even ended.

It was the height of irony that Cole was just contemplating how much he appreciated these quiet afternoons (he might not be spending them on the white sands of paradise, but it was still peaceful), when a Vulcan walked into his office like a bad punchline.

“You are Mr. Cole, the guidance counselor,” the Vulcan said, as if Cole needed reminding. “I find that I am in need of some guidance.”

“Uh, yes, of course,” Cole said, setting down his coffee and shuffling through his papers to find the appropriate data PADD, trying not to feel like he was scrambling. It wasn’t every day a _Vulcan_ looked for help. Cole would never profess himself to be an expert on Vulcans; in fact, all he knew about the reserved race was that they were basically walking computers in both intellect and emotion.

"What can I help you with?"

The Vulcan strode over to the vid screen, effortlessly disentangling the wires to connect a data PADD Cole hadn't seen him holding. Cole suppressed a sigh. He had been trying to sort out those wires to connect his own PADD ever since he got that damn vid screen installed and this Vulcan had done it in under five seconds.

Then the Vulcan pulled up a graph, with the X axis marked as TIME and the Y axis marked as--ATTRACTION? Cole frowned, perplexed. 

"What is this?" he asked.

"In the past three-point-seven months, I have been acquainted with an individual for whom I have grown to hold in high regard. I have come to observe that, within the past sixteen-point-eight days, my regard has grown in both depth and strength, and I hypothesize that--"

"Is this some sort of joke?" Cole interrupted, dazed. 

"Vulcans do not joke," the Vulcan said, face and tone neutral. 

"Then--then what is this?" Cole asked, waving a hand at the screen. Maybe guidance counselors on Vulcan helped with relationship issues, instead of just curriculum.

"Are you not a guidance counselor?"

"Yes, but--"

"Are guidance counselors not meant to guide cadets?"

"Yes, but--"

The Vulcan stared at Cole, dark eyes fathomless. Although there was nothing to the Vulcan's expression, Cole felt like he was being judged and found lacking. He sighed, knowing he would regret this. "Carry on."

"As you can see from my graph, my hypothesis that the regard is returned is supported by the following high level data points: an increased vasodilatory response, indulging in onanism as opposed to engaging in coitus--"

“Oh my God!”

The Vulcan looked at Cole, and again although his features were completely flat, Cole felt soundly chastised for his lapse of professionalism. But had he seriously just--

"As I was saying," the Vulcan continued over Cole’s mental protests, "there has also been a twenty-three-point-five percent increase spent engaged in recreational activities with me beyond standard interaction, including an invitation to spend Christmas consuming Terran burgers and Vulcan plomeek soup while viewing films from the 20th century."

The Vulcan looked at Cole expectantly. Cole closed his mouth with an audible click, shaking his head slightly.

"Well," he said, when he found his voice again. “Well. It sounds like all the data indicates that you having a significant chance.”

“Yes,” the Vulcan said. But although the his expression didn’t change, the Vulcan didn’t leave either. He just examined his graph for probably like, point seven minutes or something like that. Cole suspected he wasn’t quite satisfied. His suspicions were confirmed when the Vulcan pulled up another graph, which overlaid his previous graph.

"However, as evidenced by this high level data set, all prior relationships he has had in the past three months have been with women, and he has never indicated an interest in men--"

"Wait," Cole said, lifting a hand to stop him. "The, uh, person you hold in high regard is a _man_?"

Christ Almighty. Cole did not anticipate that he would be spending his Tuesday afternoon helping a Vulcan work his way through a sexuality crisis with a pros and cons _line graph_.

The Vulcan's eyebrows dipped just low enough for a bolt of fear to go up Cole's spine, making his back snap straight. Walking computer or no, there was something about the way the Vulcan looked just then that triggered the fight or flight instinct in his hindbrain.

"Bigotry," the Vulcan said, and Cole quaked with fear, "is the height of illogic."

"No! No, I'm sorry. I have absolutely nothing against homosexuality. I just--" Cole considered his next words, then said, "I just drew an erroneous conclusion based on an incorrect preconceived notion. The fault was mine for, um, coming to this conclusion with insufficient data."

The Vulcan appeared mollified, eyebrows smoothing out, and Cole breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He gave a sickly smile. “Look," he said quickly, before the Vulcan could launch into another lecture or murder Cole with his eyebrows, "the only way you’re going to know for sure is if you talk to the guy.”

“You believe I should conduct a risk-benefit analysis.”

“If that means telling the guy you like him, then yes.”

“I understand,” the Vulcan said, but _still_ didn’t leave. He was staring at the graphs, probably planning out a case control study or something equally sciency and terrifying.

Cole chewed on his lip, then said, “I know that it’s scary putting yourself out there--”

The Vulcan whirled around. “I am not afraid,” he said, and of course the first emotion Cole would pick up in his voice would be _disdain_. “I am merely assessing the risks. If I have mistaken the degree of his interest, our continued acquaintanceship could become disagreeable--”

“Is he that bad of a guy?”

The Vulcan stopped mid-sentence, mouth hanging open just for the briefest of seconds before he snapped it shut again. “No.”

Cole shrugged. “Then put yourself out there, and if it turns out you were mistaken, which by your own graphs is unlikely, then things will be awkward for a bit. If he’s as good a guy you say he is, he’ll get over it.”

The Vulcan considered Cole long enough for Cole’s hands to start sweating, before disconnecting his data PADD. “I thank you for your guidance.”

“Sure, of course. Anytime,” Cole said, quickly.

The Vulcan gave him the traditional Vulcan salute and finally strode out of his office. As soon as the door swished shut behind him, Cole sank back into his seat, feeling as if all of his bones were replaced with noodles. Ignoring the cup of coffee that was still steaming on his desk, he grabbed the synthehol he kept in his bottom drawer and swigged directly from the bottle, changing his status from WALK INS WELCOME to DO NOT DISTURB.

Cole felt a stab of sympathy for the guy that Vulcan set his eyes on. The poor slob was really in for it.

* * *

Jim was in the middle of concocting an engaging story about how, at the tender age of fifteen, he took on five drunk klingons (and won, of course), when he was interrupted a sudden, full body shudder.

"Someone walked over your grave," Bones suggested.

"Someone was talking about you," offered Gary.

"Hey, that reminds me. I need to talk to you, Gary," Jim said, abruptly serious. Although Liz had asked him not to say anything, he couldn’t just sit on his hands when a friend of his acted so cruel to another friend.

Gary frowned, immediately going from amused to belligerent before Jim could even say what he wanted to talk to him about. "You know I'm leaving tonight."

"When you get back," Jim said, but he was distracted by a familiar cap of shiny black hair. "We can--oh, hey, Spock!"

Jim broke away from his friends, trotting towards where he spotted Spock and Uhura and ignoring Bones' muttered, "Like a puppy," and Gary's, "It's just weird, is all I'm saying!"

Uhura greeted him with her customary look of absolute disdain, but Spock had this soft look in his eyes that made Jim want to squirm--like a puppy, dammit Bones.

"Hey, so are we on for Christmas?" Jim tried not to appear so overtly hopeful, but he was self-aware enough to know it was a lost cause. He could _feel_ the puppy eyes ( _dammit_ Bones) coming out, without any conscious effort of his own. 

If Spock were human, he would be smiling. Jim could see it at the corners of his eyes. It made him want to do something that would likely end in either horrible embarrassment or bloody murder, like fling his arms around Spock and kiss him silly. Normally, Jim was all about taking risks, but the last thing he wanted to do jeopardize whatever he and Spock were doing. So instead he just beamed at Spock, which was still horribly embarrassing but was at least less likely to result in bloody murder. 

He hoped Spock said yes. Jim had found the _best_ gift for him, and the amount of pleading he had to do and the favors he had to promise to get the damn thing would hopefully be worth it.

"Yes," Spock said, which made Jim just grin even more. "If you will allow me approximately forty-five minutes in the morning to contact my mother, I will be available the rest of the day."

"Great!" Jim said, clapping his hands together once. "That's when I was planning on comming my family, anyway." He hadn't been; the Kirks usually commed each other late at night to share a bottle of whisky (a bottle each, of course), but he would figure something out.

"Are they always like this?" Uhura asked Bones when he and Gary caught up to them. Jim abruptly realized that he and Spock were standing a bit closer than normal, gazing at each other like they were in some sort of dime-store novel romance. He coughed into his fist and took a half-step back. Spock didn't take his eyes off him.

"Yeah," Bones sighed. "It's revolting."

"Your face is revolting," Jim shot back, then had to dodge a swipe aimed for the back of his head.

"Are you free this evening?" Spock asked. Uhura glanced at Spock, a small moue of disappointment twisting her lips. Probably she had been working her way up to asking him out tonight. Jim maybe should have felt bad, but he really didn't.

"Gotta see this one off with the proper Christmas farewell," Jim said, shaking Gary's shoulder. "I'm free after that, though. Around 2000 hours?"

Well, he had been actually planning on spending the rest of the evening drinking with Bones, but he knew Bones would understand. It was why Bones was his best friend. He would have to make it up to him later, of course, and Bones would probably mock him until Jim died in some ironic but inevitable space explosion in the distant future, but it was worth it to see the way Spock's eyes brightened, just a little.

“That would be agreeable,” Spock said.

"Okay that's very sweet and all but we're going right now before I vomit everywhere," Bones said, grabbing Jim by the back of his neck. "Say goodbye, Jim."

"Goodbye, Jim," Spock said, seriously, which was just like the cutest fucking thing ever.

"Stop with the doe-eyed look, you're making me sick," Bones said, rolling his eyes. "You'll get to see your little Vulcan soon enough. Now, come on. There's a bottle of Andorian Ale out there with my name on it."

Which was, of course, why Bones ended up curled over a toilet at Katie’s, gagging painfully even though he had already vomited up that day’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

“Bones,” Jim said, rubbing his friend’s back. It was testament to how bad his friend felt that he didn’t immediately shove him away. “Bonesie. You okay?”

“Do I look fucking okay?” Bones grunted, leaning his forehead against his arm.

“Let me take you to the doctor,” Jim said, continuing with the soothing circles. Jim was pretty useless when it came to health and medicine, especially after three shots of Andorian Ale and a lager, but he knew a sick person when he saw one. Bones was white as a chess piece and absolutely covered in sweat; Jim could even feel it through his shirt.

“I _am_ the doctor,” Bones griped, but then had to spend the next several minutes dry heaving into the toilet.

“I’ve never seen you like this before,” Jim said, concerned.

“Happens to the best of us,” Bones grumbled. “Where’s Mitchell?”

“Had to rush off to catch his shuttle.”

“You should get outta here too, Jimmy. Don’t you have a date to get to?”

Jim snorted. “You don’t know me very well if you think I’m gonna leave you on this nasty bathroom floor. Not considering all the times you’ve had to pick me up in the past. I’ll just shoot him a message, don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

“I hate you,” Bones grumbled into his arm.

“Think you can get up?”

Bones grunted, which Jim decided to take as an affirmative. Carefully--and slowly, in case Bones decided sudden movement was too much--Jim slung Bones’ arm over his shoulder and pulled him up. They made it back to the dorms with Bones needing to stop only twice to vomit into the bushes, Jim dutifully rubbing his back each time.

“I’m fine,” Bones insisted, when Jim unrepentantly hacked into his dorm room and deposited him on his bed.

“Jim, you can go,” Bones sighed, after Jim placed every single hypospray he could find on the desk beside his bed.

Jim said, “I didn’t know which one to grab, so I just grabbed them all.”

Bones shuffled through them blearily before deciding on one and injecting himself in the arm. He sighed, sinking back against the wall.

“Better?”

“Hm,” Bones hummed. He already looked like he was drifting off to sleep, so Jim manhandled him into the bed, obnoxiously tucking him in and everything. Bones managed a weak approximation of his glare, and then immediately fell asleep.

 **hey, bones didn’t react well to the andorian ale. i’m going to hang out here for a little bit to make sure he’s ok** , Jim sent to Spock, leaning against Bones’ bedframe. He eyed his roommate’s bed, but didn’t trust those sheets.

 **Affirmative.** Spock messaged back, punctuation and all, which made Jim a little sad. But Spock was Vulcan, and it was pretty xenophobic to assume Spock would change his ways, especially if it meant doing some so un-Vulcan, such as expressing disappoint--

**Is the doctor unwell?**

Jim beamed down at his phone, then immediately groaned and scrubbed his face. Sometimes, he was such a maudlin drunk.

**better now. just wanna make sure he doesn’t die**

Spock didn’t answer for several minutes, long enough for Jim to synthesize a large glass of water to place on Bones’ desk.

**You are an excellent friend.**

It was a good thing Bones was unconscious, since Jim didn’t think he would be able to contain himself at the sight of Jim turning such a remarkable shade of red.

Jim stuck around for two hours, boredly scanning through one of Bones’ medical PADDs, before he gently shook Bones awake to make sure he was still alive. Bones mumbled something about one of the hyposprays being a deadly poison that he would not hesitate on using on Jim if he woke him up again. Then he stayed for one more hour just in case.

By the time he finally made it back to the dorm, it was well past 0100 hours. He wasn’t at all surprised to see that Spock was still awake. Jim tumbled onto his bed, face first. He hadn’t been drunk for awhile now, but his head was already throbbing with the beginnings of a hangover.

There was a soft exhalation and a moment later Jim felt his boots being gently removed.

“Sorry, Spock,” Jim muttered, burying his face in his pillow. He wanted out of his smoke rank clothing, but couldn’t be bothered to move.

“Part of what makes you such an exemplary human is the depth of your loyalty. I would not condemn you for such an admirable quality.”

Jim was glad his face was buried in his pillows, since he was sure it was bright red. Again.

Spock was silent long enough for Jim to drift off, before he said, “I find it peculiar that Dr. McCoy would have such an adverse reaction, considering how experienced he is in consuming alcohol.”

“Hmm,” Jim said.

Spock didn’t say anything after that, and a moment later, through the hazy prelude of dreams, Jim felt his blankets being gently drawn over his shoulders.

* * *

Dr. McCoy made a completely recovery without any apparent side effects. Spock was gratified. Although the doctor was surly at the best of times and did not appear to like anyone, even Jim, he had saved Spock’s life. Spock temporarily laid his suspicions to rest, aware that it was likely paranoia stemmed from waiting for an attack. It would be impossible to come to any conclusions without either a sample of McCoy’s drink or a sample of his blood, both of which would be impossible to come by. In any event, McCoy insisted he was in adequate health, and then wished Jim and Spock a grumpy ‘Merry Christmas’ and left for Georgia.

December 25th proceeded just as Jim had planned; first with the consumption of a cheeseburger for Jim and plomeek soup for Spock, followed by viewing a film named succinctly, if unimaginatively, A Christmas Story.

"Absurd," Spock announced as he and Jim left the famous Grand Lake Theatre in Oakland.

"I don't think you're supposed to apply logic to comedies," Jim said, amused.

"Then I fail to comprehend the purpose."

"Hm," Jim said, thoughtfully. "Consider it a reflection of late 20th century society."

Spock considered this. "Am I to understand that adult human males often become overjoyed over light fixtures shaped as disembodied female extremities and that Terran children frequently pressured their acquaintances to affix their tongues to frozen flag poles?”

“Yes,” Jim said, gravely.

Sometimes, Spock questioned whether choosing Starfleet over Vulcan Science Academy was wise. Then Jim grinned at him, and Spock remembered why it was.

For once, Jim did not try fill the shuttle ride back to the Academy with mindless chatter, seemingly content to sit with Spock in companionable silence. His shoulder was pressed against Spock's. Spock did not move away. When he chanced a look at Jim's countenance, Jim appeared--relaxed. Happy, even.

On Vulcan, Spock would often find his mother humming cheerful tunes on the Terran date December 25. He recognized one of the songs playing in the shuttle, a haunting acapella his mother once told him was titled ‘Carol of the Bells.’ 

Once, when Spock was much younger, he had discovered his mother singing a much more powerful rendition of this song and dancing atrociously, bobbing her head as if she was agreeing furiously with someone. He recalled feeling a mix of horror and mortification at catching his mother conducting herself with so much embarrassing emotion and had all but sprinted away when she laughingly tried to coax him into dancing with her.

Now, he closed his eyes for the duration of the song, for once allowing himself a small measure of contentment: for the memories the song engendered, and for the man pressed by his side.

They did not speak much until they arrived back to the dormitory room, and even then their conversation was soft. Spock was aware of a subtle difference in tone; it was not stilted as it was when they first met, but Spock was conscious of a certain tension.

"Oh, hey, I got you a gift."

Spock blinked. "It was not necessary for you to procure me a present, Jim."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Of course it's not necessary. If it was necessary, it wouldn't be a gift."

Spock was about to argue that just because a gift was freely given did not mean that it was unnecessary, when Jim handed him a small box clumsily wrapped in vibrant paper that was decorated with cartoon depictions of the Terran herbivore _rangifer tarandus_. 

Ever the scientist, Spock examined the box from every angle, noting the dimensions (approximately 170.5mm x 80.3mm x 15.1mm) and the weight (approximately 226.3g) before Jim rolled his eyes and barked, “Just open it, already!”

Spock was careful to unwrap the gift, delicately pulling the paper away to not rip it.

"It's a tricorder!" Jim announced, when Spock opened the box. 

"I am aware," Spock said. It wasn't just a tricorder, though. Unlike the tricorders issued by Starfleet, this was clearly the newest addition, smaller and sleeker than what was currently on the market. 

"I figured you'd be interested in having one of your own before you’re assigned to a ship. It must be annoying to have to reset the ones at the labs all the time."

"Where did you procure this?"

Jim shrugged. "I know people," he said, easily, and Spock suspected that Captain Pike had something to do with it, before he left for Axanar.

"Jim, considering Starfleet issues tricorders to their service, the cost of this is--"

"Spock, say thank you,"

"Jim--"

"It's impolite to ask about the cost of something given freely."

Spock considered the tricorder. Jim was not required to give Spock anything for Christmas, and yet he went out of his way to find something he knew Spock would appreciate. Spock couldn't decide if he could add this as a data point, or if it was just a part of Jim's naturally considerate personality. 

"I thank you. I regret that I have nothing for you in return."

"It's fine, Spock. You don't celebrate Christmas. I wasn't expecting anything."

"By your own admission, you also do not celebrate Christmas," Spock said.

"Well, I mean--" Jim floundered. "Just, nevermind."

Spock did mind, but he allowed the subject to drop. He would just need to make it up to Jim at a later date.

He tenderly set the tricorder on his desk, running a finger down one sleek side, before turning back around to face Jim, hands clasped behind his back. Jim was untying one boot, his cheeks warm with a pleased blush from a job well done.

"Factoring in travel time, it would be more efficient to pursue a relationship with an individual nearby to you," Spock said. Jim paused from toeing off his boot to blink up at Spock.

“Ignoring the fact that that totally came out of left field, you shouldn’t just pursue a relationship because it’s ‘efficient’,” Jim said, eyebrows drawn together in some confusion.

“Clarify.”

Jim shrugged. “Well, you should be attracted to whoever you want to be in a relationship with, for one.”

"I understand." Spock took a breath. “Vulcans possess many superior qualities, such as above average intelligence--”

“Understatement,” Jim muttered, still appearing perplexed.

“--three times the strength of a human--”

“Spock, are you bragging?”

Spock stopped in some confusion. “It is not bragging if it is simple biological truth,” he decided, then continued, "Vulcans also require a shorter refractory period than the average adult male--"

"Spock!" Jim yelped, scandalized.

"Are sexual relations not important in a human relationship?"

"Well, they are, but--aren't you like, a little embarrassed?"

"Vulcans are very private about their biological needs," Spock said, letting the implication speak for itself.

"Oh." Jim's eyes widened and he said, slowly, "Are you trying to--logic your way into a relationship with me?"

Spock said nothing, which was an answer in of itself. Jim's eyes danced--he was _amused_ , and Spock's muscles tensed, as if in preparation for flight. He had been mistaken, Jim did not return his regard--

"Oh, thank _God_. I've been spending the past two hours trying to figure out how to break it to you that this is a date."

Spock blinked. Jim laughed, running his fingers through his hair self-consciously. Spock took a step towards him.

"May I conclude that my regard for you is reciprocated?"

"If you're asking me if I've been head over heels for you since like, Halloween, then the answer is yes."

Spock frowned. "I do not recall being the cause of you falling--"

"Oh, you were," Jim said, stepping right into Spock's personal space and wrapping his arms around his neck. 

"If I have injured yo--"

Jim cut Spock off by pressing his lips tenderly to the corner of his mouth. Spock's eyes widened a fraction and Jim grinned, kissing him again, still with deceptive gentleness.

Jim huffed a small laugh when Spock grabbed him by his upper arms and pushed him up against the wall, greedily swallowing Jim’s laughter so that it buzzed into his own bones. 

"Eager, much?" Jim asked breathlessly.

"Vulcans are not 'eager'," Spock said, but immediately contradicted his own statement when he cradled Jim’s face with both hands, basking in the warm happiness that radiated from his skin, and kissed him until his laughter turned into a quiet, pleased hum.


	10. Chapter 10

"You’re a hard Vulcan to pin down," Uhura said, sliding her forefinger around the rim of her teacup. She sounded amused, but also fond in a somewhat disturbing way.

“There have been adjustments to my curriculum that have impacted my time for recreational activities,” Spock said.

“No kidding.” Uhura grinned at him. “I’m in the Xenolinguistic’s class you’re TAing. Jeez, Spock, you are seriously brilliant. I have no idea how you can manage two tracks _and_ teaching. Aren’t you overseeing the _Kobayashi Maru_ as well?”

“Vulcans require less sleep than humans.”

“Nonetheless,” Uhura said, shaking her head. “You must be exhausted. How did you end up getting saddled with so many responsibilities?”

“The guidance counselor, Mr. Cole, recommended that I teach,” Spock said. “I find the pace of my current curriculum satisfying.” 

Uhura huffed a small laugh, still somewhat disbelieving. “How do you even have time for a social life?”

“It is not required for Vulcans to fraternize as humans do,” Spock said. “However--”

Uhura slumped forward, sighing. “You and Kirk, huh?”

“Although your question is ambiguous, if I may surmise that you are inquiring if Jim and I are in a--relationship,” Spock said ‘relationship’ like someone who couldn’t remember a word they were looking for and were substituting it with something that wasn’t quite right, but would have to do, “then you are correct.”

Uhura flinched, just a little, which was kind of fucking offensive. “Why Kirk? I mean, no offense to Kirk and all, but isn’t he too--capricious for you?”

“Are most humans not?” Spock asked, voice a touch distant. “Jim is impulsive and unpredictable, and at all times--fascinating.”

“Really? I mean, I know that that there’s been a huge todo amongst the faculty about his exams, but that’s exaggerated, right? There is no way he’s really in the top two percentile.”

“He is,” Spock said, simply.

“I bet he is just unbearably smug about that,” Uhura griped, sinking back into her chair.

“Negative,” Spock said. “Although Jim can appear overconfident at times, it is my understanding that his primary goal is to become a captain. It is not merely a desire to prove himself worthy of the role, which he unquestionably is, but because commanding a starship is his--destiny.”

“Wait, wait!” Jim yelped, leaping out of his chair and storming over to Spock and Uhura’s table, face bright red. Uhura startled so badly she nearly knocked over her teacup. “Sorry--I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping--I was going to leave, I swear, but--I just--”

He just hadn’t wanted Spock to tell something so personal to Uhura before he said it to Jim, is all. Their relationship was still so new--just barely a month old-- and their schedules permitted them time for only a few intense kisses and one failed attempt at sharing a bed just for sleep, which ended when Spock complained something about emotional transference and went back into his own bed. The point was, if Spock truly believed that Jim could-- _would_ be a captain, he wished that he would say it to _Jim_ , not Uhura.

“Sorry,” Jim finished, lamely.

Spock’s eyes crinkled at the sides and there was a glint in his eye that Jim identified as--mischief? “I have been aware of your presence for the past five point six minutes, Jim.”

Jim groaned, rubbing his hands on his face. “Why didn’t you say something, then?”

“It was not my intention to interrupt your own tête-à-tête,” Spock said, glancing over his shoulder at where Bones was peering over at them curiously. “I did not want to embarrass you.”

“That,” Jim said, pointing at Spock and ignoring the interested looks of the other patrons, “is a blatant lie.”

“Vulcans do not lie,” Spock said, but his eyes were still twinkling and Jim groaned again.

“Sorry, Uhura, I’m going to have to cut your guys’ own little tête-à-tête short,” Jim said, grabbing Spock’s hand and pulling him out of the booth. Spock went willingly enough, in spite of Uhura’s disbelieving look. “I need to have a little talk with Spock.”

“He means make out,” Bones called from their table.

They would never be able to go to this coffee shop again, which should have been a shame since it served actual, slow drip coffee, none of that synthesized crap. Jim didn’t much care. He dragged Spock out to the street, heedless of the misty rain that hovered in San Francisco, and pulled him up one of the many hills that led back to the Academy. They didn’t speak, and Jim didn’t let go of Spock’s hand.

“Did you,” Jim started, his voice gruff. He cleared his throat. “Did you mean for me to hear that?”

“I did,” Spock said.

Jim darted a glance at Spock’s face, then looked ahead again. “Do you believe it?”

“I do,” Spock said.

Jim jolted to a halt, yanking Spock’s hand so that he stopped with him, then whirled so fast that Spock would have probably taken a step back if he wasn’t so Vulcan. Jim sprang on him, which did make Spock take a step back, and kissed him deeply.

When he pulled back, Spock’s eyes were hard in a way that made Jim’s breath catch in his throat and heartbeat quicken. 

“Uh.” Jim swallowed, and Spock’s eyes flicked down to his throat, just for the briefest of seconds, before settling back onto his face. “Should we, um, go back to the Academy?”

Spock said nothing, just watched Jim with an almost single-minded _intent_. Finally, _finally_ , he nodded once.

They walked back to the Academy in silence, because Jim didn’t have enough breath to speak. Fuck, Spock was going to be the death of him. 

* * *

In some ways, Nyota was not entirely incorrect about her assessment of Jim. Jim was, indeed, capricious, excessively emotional, and irrational at the best of times. It was eminently more logical for Spock to have pursued a relationship with a more stable individual.

However, in the most important ways, Jim would be the ideal mate. He was bright and creative, strong and fearless, and possessed such an engaging personality that, by his own words, people either fell helplessly in love with him or wanted him dead. 

But what first drew individuals to him was his aesthetic attributes (not that Spock was blind to Jim's appearance; he, too, was becoming increasingly more distracted by said attributes these past two point five weeks). In fact, at this very juncture, a fairhaired woman was dragging Jim across the lawn, following the crowd of cadets eager to watch the return of the starships. Spock followed, but his eyes were fixed on the blonde pair weaving their way through the crowd instead of the gleaming ships. 

Spock did not understand the excitement, but even from a distance he could see that Jim was completely entranced. The small blonde had to tug him forward as he trailed behind to watch the ship, one hand shielding his eyes. 

The cadets congregated at the top of a hill, inexplicably cheering when a starship streaked into view. Spock strode to Jim, stopping at the woman's side. She glanced up at him, then took a hesitant step closer to Jim.

"There she is," Jim breathed, mostly to himself, as the gleaming body of the USS _Enterprise_ came to view. "She was built right in my hometown, you know?"

"She's beautiful," the woman agreed, though to Spock she sounded ingenuous. She, in fact, appeared to be watching the USS _Constitution_ , as opposed to the _Enterprise_.

Spock looked down at her. She darted a nervous glance up at him, then back at Jim. Spock lowered his eyebrows, just slightly.

It hasn't been his intention to frighten her, but after gaping at him for several seconds, she ducked her head and darted off to a small cluster of women by a nearby oak. Spock watched her hurry off, then took her place by Jim's side.

"They have just returned from Axanar," Spock observed, noting the superficial damage to the _Enterprise's_ hull.

Jim jumped clear off the ground, clutching his chest with one hand. " _Jesus,_ Spock, you just took like, three years off my life."

Spock allowed some amusement to show in his eyes at Jim's exaggeration. "I apologize if I frightened you, Jim."

"I'm sure you do," Jim huffed, but he stepped closer to Spock, well past his personal boundaries, until their shoulders were pressed together.

"I heard they were victorious," Jim said.

"That is my understanding as well."

"Good," Jim said, a fierce light in his eyes. "They've been really hush-hush about this mission, claiming that the only reason why they were in this war was because of the Fabari, but I don't believe it."

"The Axanarri were intending to expand their own empire by invading the Fabari," Spock said.

Jim shrugged. "Seems too simple of an answer, considering how close Axanar is to the Klingon boundary."

It was a wonder people could think so little of Jim. Not for the first time, Spock suspected that Jim purposefully let people believe the worst in him--but for what reason, Spock could not hope to understand.

"It is an--interesting theory," Spock said, thoughtfully.

Jim flashed a grin, leaning closer to him. He sighed as the _Enterprise_ sank down, and from their contact, Spock could feel Jim's contradicting emotions of conviction and longing.

"One day," Jim sighed, wistfully.

"Without a doubt," said Spock.

* * *

Jim kindly gave Pike two days to see to the _Enterprise_ and settle down before letting himself into his office, unannounced and likely unwanted.

"Captain Pike, welcome back!" Jim said cheerfully as he strode into Pike's office.

"Kirk," Pike said, smiling tiredly. "I was meaning to meet with you."

This derailed Jim, but he took the seat across from Pike's desk, anyway. "Oh yeah? How come?"

"Just wanted to see how you were doing before I left again."

"Heading back to Axanar, sir?"

"When the repairs have been completed, yes." Pike smiled wryly. “Battle’s won, now comes the fun stuff.”

Jim raised his eyebrows. “You mean, making sure the battle remains won.”

Pike nodded, closing his eyes in a quick flinch. “Like I said, the fun stuff.” When Pike opened his eyes again, he considered Jim for long enough to make Jim shift in his chair uncomfortably.

“What?”

“Nothing. Well, something, but I won’t know for certain until a couple of days yet.”

“Not to be cryptic or anything,” Jim muttered.

Pike grinned at him. “I just wouldn’t want to get your hopes up until I know for sure.”

“You realize when you saying something like that it gets my hopes up, right? The least you could do is tell me what I’m getting my hopes up _for_.”

“Not yet,” Pike said, still grinning. “Anyway, I heard you’re doin’ good, kid. Didn’t doubt you for a second.”

Okay, so maybe Jim had wanted to impress Captain Pike, just a little bit. He grinned and shrugged. "It's nothing, really."

"Enough of that 'aw, shucks' attitude, kid," Pike said, smirking. "You've got all of Command in a tizzy, you know that? 'That Kirk kid, such a promising young man'."

Pike looked a little too smug for his own good, especially since Jim was the one who was getting the good grades. Jim rolled his eyes.

“I hear you’re second only to Spock in several of your classes.”

“Excuse me, sir, but I totally beat him in Tactical Analysis.” Which had so obviously pissed Spock off, even though he said nothing. Jim thought maybe he shouldn’t have flaunted it so excessively, but it wasn’t every day that a mere human beat a Vulcan at, well, anything.

“It’s not a competition,” Pike chastised, but he was grinning. “Speaking of Spock, did he like your Christmas gift?”

Jim shrugged. “He found it acceptable.” And then wanted to make out, but there were things not even Pike needed to know.

“It’s good the two of you are getting along so well now.”

“Yeah,” Jim said, smiling. His smile must have been a little too dopey, because Pike’s eyes sharpened.

“Just _how_ well, Jim?”

“We’re _great_ friends,” Jim said, earnestly.

“Oh my God,” Pike said, dropping his head in his hands. Jim kept his eyes wide and innocent. “If the Ambassador comes down on me because you--you deflowered his son--”

“Did you really just say ‘deflowered’?” Jim asked, impressed.

“Get out of my office!”

Jim laughed, pushing himself out of his seat and giving a sloppy salute that bordered insubordinate. “Glad you made it out alright, sir.”

“Are there Vulcan shotgun weddings?” Jim heard Pike mutter to himself, just before the doors to his office swished shut.

It was flattering that Pike thought Jim was such a stud. If only. Jim could be patient, especially since he knew that part of his newly celibate life had more to do with busy schedules instead of lack of interest, but it still a bummer. Especially when Spock sometimes looked at him like he was one second away from tossing Jim to the ground and having his wicked, alien way with Jim.

Jim shivered a little, then sighed, popping up his collar against the light drizzle that still lingered. Oh well. He could wait.

There was still thirty minutes before his next class, which was plenty of time to grab a quick bite at the cafeteria. Maybe he would be lucky and run into Bones, or even better, Spock, though the latter was less likely. Like Jim, Spock didn’t have class at this hour, but he was more likely feeding his great brain instead of feeding his stomach. Jim briefly imagined himself synthesizing a bowl of plomeek soup for Spock while he slaved over a data PADD, then stopped mid-step, acutely embarrassed for himself. Christ, he had it bad if he was fantasizing _domesticity_.

As he was contemplating just how humiliating he was becoming (‘moon-eyed,’ Bones would say, probably with a healthy dose of secondhand embarrassment), a movement partially hidden by the shadows of the administration building caught his eye.

“Let me _go_ , damn you!” a familiar voice snapped. Jim frowned and veered off the path to jog towards the arguing couple.

“I need more information, Dehner,” someone snarled. “You’re the _expert_ , aren’t you?”

“What’s going on here?” Jim asked, his easy tone belying the hard glint in his eye. Liz whipped around eyes wide and relieved, and exposed her--attacker? But it was _Gary_ who stared at Jim over Liz’s shoulder, face twisted in anger that was morphing into something closer to fear.

“Nothing,” Gary said petulantly, but he didn’t meet Jim’s eye, focusing instead on his shoulder.

“Let her go, Gary,” Jim said, keeping his voice soft and easing towards them as if Gary were a feral animal. Fear was bad. It made people do stupid shit. 

“We were just talking,” Gary said, taking a half step back. His grip on her wrist was so tight that Liz was forced to follow. “Dehner is helping me with--research.”

Liz’s eyes were huge. Research or not, she was obviously not at all okay with Gary clamping onto her like a constrictor. She flicked a glance at Gary’s face, then quickly back to Jim.

“Liz and I actually had plans for lunch,” Jim lied, easily. “Is it cool if she meets up with you after?”

“I’ll send you everything you need, Gary, promise,” said Liz, earnestly. “Right after lunch.”

Gary looked between Jim and Liz, lips thin, before he slowly released Liz’s wrist. She stumbled to Jim’s side and linked her arm through Jim’s, clinging to him as if she was afraid he would escape. Jim didn’t fail to notice that her hand was trembling.

“Does your little Vulcan know you’re fucking around?” Gary sneered.

“First of all, you know perfectly well that Liz and I are just friends,” snapped Jim, and Gary looked to the side. “Second of all, fuck you.”

Gary continued to scowl to the side, before he nodded once, sharply. “See you,” he said, turning to leave with a short wave of his hand.

“Jesus,” Liz exhaled, sagging against Jim’s side. He stared after Gary, frowning.

“What the hell was that about?” he asked, mostly to himself.

“He said he wanted more information about Espers.” 

“Why, though?”

Liz shrugged. “You’re guess is as good as mine, Jim.” She released his arm, shoving her hands into her coat’s pockets. “Do you actually want to go to lunch? My next class isn’t for another hour.”

“I’ve actually got Survival Strategies next,” Jim said, eyes lighting up. “I hear they drop you into a forest without anything.”

Liz shivered delicately. “Sounds horrible. Anyway, thanks. I don’t think Gary ever really got over me rejecting him, even though that was like, what, two months ago?” She rolled her eyes.

“How did you and Gary even meet, anyway?” Jim asked, curious in spite of himself. “It’s not like he’s in the med track.”

“It’s the strangest thing,” Liz said, chewing on her lower lip. “I ran into him when he was leaving one of the vaccine research labs about a month ago, even though he's not on the med track.”

A cold chill trickled down Jim’s spine. “Did you just say the vaccine research labs?” he rasped, heart thundering in his throat.

“Well, yeah. I was heading to the labs for Esper research, of course--Jim, are you okay?”

It was funny how things sometimes all fell neatly into place. Gary, who never really forgave Jim for being friends with Liz, met Liz at the very research labs where lethal viruses were kept. But--Jim frowned, a niggle of doubt creeping through his theory--Jim hadn't met Liz until after the Romulan super flu debacle.

“I’ve got to go,” Jim said, already jogging towards where they left Gary. He turned to face her, still walking backwards. "Find Spock. He’s in my Survival Strategies class. Tell him I think it was Gary with the Romulan super flu."

"Wait, Jim!"

Jim waved her off, backtracking to where they last saw Gary. Maybe he had sank back into the shadows to creepily watch them. Of course, he wasn’t, since that would be too easy. 

He started at a less frantic pace towards the dorms. The biggest question of the hour was: Why did Gary want to kill Jim?

* * *

Although Spock the demonstration on cleaning and dressing an open wound using any materials on hand fascinating (although if Chekov truly needed so many bandages, surely he would be dead), his attention was divided. It was unlike Jim to miss a class these days, and yet the seat he usually occupied on Spock’s left was empty. For no logical reason, Spock found himself glancing periodically at the empty desk, as if he might appear if Spock willed him there. He was somewhat uneasy by this change in pattern, although he had no reason to be. It was not implausible that Jim had become distracted and simply forgot about class. Spock did not think Jim would use this time to indulge in onanism (again), not considering the progress of their new relationship--

“Psst!”

Half the class, including Commander Wise and Chekov (who still looked partially mummified), turned to face the entrance. Spock was surprised to see Jim’s friend, Dr. Dehner, waving furiously at--him, of all people.

Spock glanced back at Commander Wise, who was looking back and forth between Elizabeth and the student to Spock’s left. Then he looked at the student to Spock’s right. Elizabeth urgently pointed at Spock.

“Mr. Spock,” Commander Wise said, reprovingly.

“I apologize,” Spock said, standing and tucking his PADD under his arm. He hesitated--he had never ditched a class before, but Elizabeth appeared to be growing more frantic by the second--then, slightly uncertain about how he should proceed, saluted Commander Wise with the ta’al and hurried out of the classroom.

“Dr. Dehner,” Spock said, with some censure.

“Jim told me to tell you that he thinks Gary’s is behind the Romulan super flu!” Elizabeth said, in a rush.

Spock experienced an odd feeling, both cold and somewhat sickening. “And how did he come to this conjecture?”

“I told him I met Gary when he was leaving the vaccine research labs and--”

“Where are they?” Spock demanded, cutting her off. His hands involuntarily clenched into tight fists and he clasped them behind his back.

“I don’t know,” Elizabeth said, uselessly, her eyes wide. “He just told me to find you--”

Spock strode forward, long legs carrying him fast enough that Elizabeth had to jog to keep up with him. If Elizabeth couldn’t provide him with their location, he would just have to find them through process of elimination.

* * *

"Gary," Jim said. 

Gary was sitting on his bed, legs crossed at his ankles. He was flipping through a data PADD casually, although he was swiping too fast to actually be reading anything. When he saw Jim at his door, he set down his PADD and smiles easily.

"Hey, Jim."

Jim entered his room, letting the door swish shut behind him. Unknowingly mimicking Spock, he clasped his hands behind his back, standing straight.

"Tell me about the Romulan super flu."

Gary sighed, swinging his legs off the side of his bed. "I was wondering when you'd figure it out. Took you longer than I thought it would."

"You covered your tracks well."

"Not well enough, apparently."

Jim's lips thinned in an approximation of his usual smile. "All I want to know is why? I thought we were friends, man. Why would you try to kill me?"

"I wasn't trying to kill _you_ ," Gary said, derisively. "I was trying to kill _Spock_."

It took Jim longer than normal to process that statement. “Spock?” he repeated in disbelief.

“Yes Spock, obviously,” Gary said, rolling his eyes. “Why would I try to kill you with a _Romulan_ super flu?”

“Why try to kill me at all?”

Gary flashed him a wry grin that twisted in the corners, but ignore his question to continue his rant. “But then the goddamn good doctor had to interfere.”

“Wait,” Jim said, holding up a hand. He vaguely remembered Spock mentioning something about Bones’ reaction to alcohol being weird. “Wait, did you try to kill Bones, too? At the bar?”

“Pity they poison didn’t take,” Gary sighed, wistfully.

“You tried to poison a doctor?” Jim asked in disbelief.

“And you,” Gary admitted. When Jim gaped at him, Gary shrugged and said, almost accusingly, “You drank too fast. I didn't have time to slip the poison in.”

“So,” Jim grit out, scratching the back of his head. “Let me get this straight. You want to kill not just me, but Spock and Bones too?”

“And Dehner,” Gary said.

“Good God, man, how many people do you want to kill?!”

“As many as I need to,” Gary snapped, shoving to his feet. He paced across the short length between the two beds, clenching and unclenching his fists. “You don’t know what it’s like, watching you jump from person to person, leaving me behind--”

“I’m confused,” Jim interrupted. “Do you hate me or love me?”

“I don’t know,” Gary moaned.

Jim chewed on his lower lip, watching as Gary took a tight turn to pace back towards his bed. He didn’t believe for a minute that Gary wanted to kill him just because he felt _neglected_. “Look, Gary, it doesn’t have to be like this--”

“ _Quiet_!” The data PADD Gary had been flipping through _flew through the fucking air_ and would have brained Jim if he hadn’t dove to the side, colliding hard into Gary’s desk.

Jim stared at Gary.

Gary stared at Jim.

“What the fuck was that?” Jim demanded.

“I--I don’t know,” Gary said, sounding just as stunned as Jim felt. Curiously, he held a hand out towards Jim, then pulled it back towards himself. Jim staggered forward several steps, under Gary’s curious gaze.

“Huh,” Gary said, then held out both hands, palms flat. Jim’s knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor with a gasp.

Jim looked up at Gary, eyes wide.

Gary smiled.


	11. Chapter 11

“Spock, you have to hurry,” Elizabeth said, which was not a constructive use of her time in the current predicament. Spock ignored her, fingers flying across the terminal just outside of Gary Mitchell’s room. The coding was the same on all doors; he had been able to override it with ease, but it would not open. He could hear Jim's muffled voice pleading with Gary from just inside the room.

" _Why_ , Gary?" Jim asked. “It can’t just be because you feel ignored.”

"You're in my way," said Gary, and Spock could hear the sneer in his voice.

“Not this again,” Jim groaned. “I guess I can get why you want to kill me, since it seems like you want to kill a lot of people, and a lot of people seem to want to kill me these days, but can’t you be _original_ about it?”

Spock flipped through the screens with inhuman speed, but when there was a crack of something heavy striking flesh and a small groan of pain, Spock abandoned the panel to slam his shoulder against the door.

“Shut up,” Gary said calmly. 

Spock crashed his shoulder into the door again. It groaned in protest, bowing from the impact of a preternaturally strong Vulcan. He pried his fingers into the centimeter of space between the bent door and the wall and pulled, forearms tensing as he fought against the unnatural force holding it shut. It gave approximately three centimeters, before abruptly swishing open and nearly causing Spock to lose his balance.

“Ah, Mr. Spock,” Gary said. “And Miss Dehner. So good of you to visit.”

Jim was kneeling in the center of the room, back to the door. His head twitched, as if he wanted to turn to Spock and Elizabeth but couldn’t. Across from him, Gary slouched against his desk, smiling faintly. His eyes glinted white.

"Jim," Spock said, stepping towards Jim's kneeling form. "Are you injured?"

Jim was able to turn his face enough for Spock to see blood trickling out of the right corner of his mouth and one scared eye. "Spock--" 

"How touching," Gary said, flatly. "You know, this is actually perfect. I've been wondering how to get Jimmy out of the way.”

“How is he in your way?” Elizabeth demanded, edging into the room after Spock.

Gary’s entire face morphed with incandescent rage, changing his familiar youthful features into something inhuman. It was unnerving. “ _I_ deserve the _Enterprise_ \--”

“Wait, what do you mean?” Jim interrupted, because evidently he did not believe in self-preservation. “Are you saying they’re assigning me to the _Enterprise_?” 

Gary didn’t answer verbally. Instead, a data PADD drifted up and crashed into the side of Jim’s face. He fell to the floor, but then was immediately jerked upright like a marionette on strings.

Spock’s eyes widened. Gary was an _Esper_. It was completely unprecedented. Rarely did humans, even ones with high esper ratings, posses such strong psionic abilities.

“Gary, wait,” Jim said quickly. His voice was wet. More blood poured out of the corner of his mouth. “Wait--there has to be some sort of mistake. I’m not graduating for another two years.”

“Axanar,” Gary snapped. Spock paused, his own surprise reflected in Jim’s startled silence. It was not unheard of for a cadet to be assigned on a mission, but it was rare, and a high honor.

“I think that with you out of the way, Command could be--convinced--to assign me to the _Enterprise_. Maybe even give me command. Captain Gary Mitchell of the _Enterprise_. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” 

Gary pushed away from the desk, moving to Jim’s side. His smile was completely devoid of anything resembling sanity. “Originally I was considering suicide, but a Vulcan snapping and murdering his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s lover in a jealous rage is much better."

"What--" Spock was abruptly jerked forward to stumble in front of Jim kneeling form. Jim's eyes went wide with a growing realization.

"Oh no," he said, as Spock's hand was forced up and a sharp knife materalized in his palm. “Gary, no. Don’t--”

Spock tried to drop the knife. He tried wresting his arm down, even pulling at it with his other hand. His breathing rate doubled as he was forced inexorably forward, clawing long, deep welts into his own arm as it lifted up. He twisted his body with a snarl--he would rip off his own arm before he injured Jim-- 

"Gary, don't do this," Jim pleaded, eyes fixed on Spock. "Stop!"

The blade rose and plunged down, and Jim let out a sickening, wet grunt.

"NO!" The word ripped out of Spock in a primal scream. The unnatural force that gripped him released its hold and he collapsed to his knees, catching Jim as he slumped to the floor. There was a commotion in the background, Elizabeth was shouting something at Gary, but it faded into dull white noise as Spock's hands hovered uselessly over the knife. If he pulled it out, he risked causing further damage. Those captivating blue eyes shone up at Spock, but there was no accusation in them, just a painful mix of terror and, of all things, apology. 

Jim opened his mouth to say something, but it was blood that bubbled out instead of words. He reached one hand up, wet fingers caressing over Spock's furrowed brows as if trying to smooth them out.

"S-sorry," Jim mouthed the word, and then his hand fell limply to his side, eyes sliding shut.

Spock bowed over Jim's body, reaching one trembling hand up to tentatively mimic Jim's touch, sliding two fingers over Jim's brow and down the side of face. Tenderly, he settled Jim to the floor, stroking his thumb across his cheekbone one final time before he tore his gaze away.

Gary was slumped back against his desk, eyes wide and clear from the unnatural glow. He was staring past Spock and Jim at Elizabeth, who had one hand stretched towards Gary, lips slightly parted and a determined glint in her eyes.

Spock couldn't piece together what happened, all of his precious logic drowned out by a cacophonous roar. He stood. Stepped over Jim's body.

The first punch split Gary’s lower lip and two of Spock's knuckles. The second punch separated Gary’s mandible from the base of his skull. The third punch crushed his nasal bone.

"Spock!" A small hand gripped Spock's upper arm, preventing him from landing a fourth blow that would shatter two of his incisors. He made to shake Elizabeth off-- _how dare this human stop him_ \--but she squeezed his arm tightly and said, "You're going to kill him!"

"I am aware," said Spock, voice calm.

"Don't!"

"I see no reason why I should not. He killed Jim." But no, that was incorrect. Spock killed Jim. The hand holding Mitchell up shook hard so hard that he almost dropped the unconscious man.

"Jim's still alive!"

Spock's grip tightened. There was a ripping sound as his fingers tore through the fabric. He did not dare look away from Mitchell.

"Spock, I promise you, he's still alive. You've got to help him, please." Elizabeth let go of his arm to carefully pry his fingers loose. Mitchell dropped from his hand. Spock clinically watched as the back of his head cracked against the desk and felt nothing.

"Jim--" Spock said.

"--needs our help," Elizabeth said, gently pulling him away from Gary. Spock kneeled by Jim's side, fingers hovering over his pulse point. What if Elizabeth was wrong? Spock could not bring himself to touch him to find out.

"Spock!" Elizabeth snapped. Spock flinched. "You can freak out later. Move!"

Spock slid one arm under the back of Jim's knees and the other around his shoulders, pressing him close against his chest. He sprinted out of Gary’s dorm and to the medical facilities, both Elizabeth and Gary forgotten.

It was--challenging to release Jim to the care of the doctors. Spock couldn't bare to relinquish his grip until Dr. McCoy appeared in front of him and grimly demanded, "Let him go, Spock."

And then Spock was standing in the middle of the hallway, arms hanging limply at his sides, the front of his cadet uniform a darker shade of red.

He still did not know if Jim was alive.

* * *

The first thing Jim recognized when he came to was the familiar, cloying smell of disinfectant that was inherent to a hospital. Sound came next--there was the steady beep of a heart monitor next to his left ear. Definitely a hospital. Jim almost didn’t want to open his eyes. He did, though, because Jim was no coward.

“Hey,” he whispered, after blinking a couple of times. Spock was standing at the entrance of his private room, hands clasped behind his back. For some reason, he felt out of breath, though he still managed a smile that felt lopsided. “What are you doing all the way over there?”

Spock studied Jim’s face for several seconds, before his eyes dropped to focus somewhere over his shoulder. “The stab wound caused traumatic pneumothorax, along with a 15 mm wound to the right ventricle--”

“Um,” Jim said. He would have scratched the back of his head, if he wasn’t so tired.

“Your lung collapsed,” Spock said, flatly. “And the blade nicked your heart.”

It took several seconds for Spock’s words to sink in, and even then Jim was had trouble digesting it. Maybe they had him on the good stuff, but no matter how hard he wracked his brain, he couldn’t quite remember what happened.

“Oh,” he said, and furrowed his brows.

“Jim,” Spock said, sounding stiffer than he had when they first met. “I find that I--I _must_ apologize.”

Jim blinked. “For what?”

“It is because of my actions that you are in your current state.”

“Wait,” Jim said, holding up a hand. Spock waited. “Are you saying that _you_ stabbed me?”

“Affirmative.”

That--seemed wrong. Jim frowned, trying to focus his foggy brain, and peered closely at Spock. His head was slightly bowed and eyes still focused intently on Jim’s shoulder. If Jim didn’t know any better, he would say Spock looked--guilty. Somehow, Jim knew this wasn’t right.

“Gary,” Jim gasped, before his brain could catch up with his mouth. He jerked up and Spock jerked forward when Jim grimaced. “Shit, fuck. That hurt.”

“You are recovering from a serious injury,” Spock chastised, but at least he was actually within two meters of Jim, instead of all the way across the room.

Jim allowed himself to be pushed back, but frowned up at Spock. “I remember,” he said, his eyebrows knitting together. “Gary--he somehow was able to control us. He forced me to kneel and you to stab--” Jim cut off at Spock’s barely perceptible flinch. 

“It is illogical for you to continue to blame yourself for something out of your control,” Jim said, switching tactics.

“Yes,” said Spock.

“You’re aware that it’s illogical?”

“Obviously,” said Spock. “And yet.”

Jim sighed and wrapped a hand around Spock's wrist. He half-expected Spock to pull away, but when he didn't, he relaxed back into his pillows and concentrated on projecting his affection through the contact. 

It had an opposite effect than what Jim was going for. Spock's entire arm began to tremble and he moved to pull away, but Jim clamped down on him with both hands. He was weak and wouldn't be able to stop Spock if he really wanted to escape, but he had to try.

"Spock--"

"You died by my hand," Spock gasped. "I killed you."

Jim pulled him down until their foreheads were touching, closing his eyes. "Spock, if that were true, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now."

"But I believed it to be so."

"I'm so sorry," Jim sighed. He wished he knew how to make this better.

"You have no reason to apologize," Spock said, after a long moment.

"Maybe not, but I'm still sorry you had to go through that."

"If that is the case, then the sentiment is returned."

Spock pulled back to cup Jim's face with both of his hands. The depth of his feelings Jim felt through the connection was reflected by Spock's eyes. A breathtaking amount of guilt warred with consuming relief and, above all else, deep affection that Jim could almost call love. Jim basked in it, pressing his cheek against Spock's hand and returning his own love as best as he could--probably clumsy and over eager, but Spock caressed the side of his face in response.

“I love you,” Jim admitted, in a rush. He thought about dying without Spock knowing that--maybe able to recognize the empirical evidence but never knowing for certain--and it felt like he was being stabbed anew. “I know you’re Vulcan and everything, and that I’m probably freaking you out, but I want--need--you to know.”

He half-expected Spock to go running for the hills at such an emotional confession, but instead his eyes softened and he leaned forward to press a soft kiss against Jim’s lips. It made his recently nicked heart kick up with a sweet ache.

“As a Vulcan, it is unnatural for me to express my emotions freely,” Spock said. “I believe I would struggle to articulate just how deep my own regard is for you. If you would permit me to show you--”

“Of course,” Jim said, eyes bright, and tilted his head up. 

Spock leaned forward until their foreheads pressed together and slipped his fingers over Jim’s meld points, murmuring, “I love you, as well.”

And then Jim _knew_.

* * *

It took a full two days for Jim to finally be released, in spite of Bone’s grumbling protests, and another day for him to learn about Gary’s fate. After receiving his own medical treatment, Gary was to be sent to Elba II asylum for the criminally insane. He almost didn’t believe Liz when she described, with a sort of fascinated horror, how Spock had punched Gary unconscious and probably would have continued to beat him to death if Liz hadn’t convinced him Jim was still alive and needed his help. He couldn’t help the bone deep gratitude he felt--if Liz hadn’t been able to stop him and Spock had killed Gary, it would have changed Spock irreparably. Had already changed him. It made Jim bone tired and heartsick and wish, not for the first time, that Gary had chosen a _different_ way to try and kill Jim.

The fourth day was spent explaining his side of the story far too many times to far too many people, including but not limited to: Pike, his mother, the admiralty, a stern Vulcan elder named T'Pau, and, most terrifyingly, Spock’s parents.

And then there was Axanar. As it turned out, it _hadn’t_ been the ravings of a mad man: Jim, despite being a newly-fledged cadet, was going to Axanar on the _Enterprise_ for a peace mission. It was almost impossible to reconcile the high of going to space--on the _Enterprise_ , even--with the crushing betrayal of a close friend, the near death experience, and everything that was Spock.

By the fifth day, Jim decided he needed a break and locked himself in his dorm room, turning off all forms of communication. Spock, who had been sitting at his desk when Jim had come to this conclusion, looked over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow.

“Are you well?”

“Fine, Spock,” Jim said, with a tired smile. He crossed the room to stand behind him. Spock was writing on a PADD with a stylus. “What are you doing?”

“I am completing my paper on the effects of antimicrobials on non-pathogenic alien bacteria...”

Jim rested his chin on Spock’s shoulder, immediately feeling some of his tension drain away. Sometimes, Jim wondered if Spock used his ‘Vulcan voodoo’ to leech out Jim’s concerns, but he was pretty sure Vulcan touch telepathy didn’t work that way.

Their relationship had subtly changed after the horrible events with Gary and the subsequent confessions. Although Spock could never be described as a ‘cuddly’ individual, he was definitely much more tactile these past five days: pressing their shoulders and legs together at the cafeteria, brushing against him when they passed each other during morning ablutions, and, above all, constantly sliding their fingers together. Jim had been gleeful to learn that this was a form of Vulcan kissing, which meant that Spock wanted to make out all the damn time.

“...along with its potentially detrimental effects on essential probiotics within non-Terran individuals..."

Jim wasn't much interested in whatever Spock was talking about, too distracted by a pleasant buzz of arousal, and strangely, a sudden and heady rush of adrenaline. Sex was still the hugely noticeable burlesque dancing elephant in the room, but even if Jim had wanted to broach the subject, there just hadn’t been the _time_.

He wondered if he should bring it up now, but couldn’t quite come up with the right words. “Hey, you wanna fuck?” was too crass and would more than likely send Spock out of the room in a huff. “I would like to engage in intercourse with you” was more of Spock’s language, but Jim didn’t think he could say that with a straight face.

He sighed and leaned his head against Spock’s. However it happened, he hoped it happened soon--he left for Axanar in a week and, as sappy as it sounded, he didn’t want to go without ‘engaging in intercourse’ with Spock, at least once. If he looked really deep into that sappy side of himself that was totally in love with Spock, it wasn’t because he was horny (well, not just because he was horny), it was because he needed that moment, the one where two individuals were connected in the most intimate way humanly possible, and he desperately needed it with _Spock_.

It took Jim a moment to notice that Spock had gone completely silent. He was sitting perfectly still, save for a slight clenching of his forearms as he tightened his grip on the sides of the PADD.

With a jolt, Jim realized that his hand had migrated up to cup the back of Spock's neck and that he was unconsciously stroking his thumb through the short bristles of hair. Probably he had been projecting his lust and love and slight melancholy this entire time. But a good amount of that low hum of arousal and adrenaline he felt was originating from his hand, specifically where he was touching Spock's bare skin. 

In the window's faint reflection, Spock's eyes looked black.

That explained the adrenaline. He basically had an apex predator by the neck. 

It was like being punched in the stomach. The quiet pulse he'd been enjoying exploded full blown arousal. His skin was electric with it. Curiously, and with the self-preservation he was known for, he raked his nails down the back of Spock’s neck to the bump of his spine.

Spock surged up from his chair and prowled towards Jim, dark eyes intent. He backed Jim up until the back of his knees hit the edge of his bed, never once tearing his hard black eyes away from Jim’s face.

“Strip,” Spock ordered. 

“ _Fuck_.” Jim’s fingers immediately flew up to scrabble at his collar and Spock just fucking _watched_ , clasping his hands behind his back as if he was observing the outcome of an experiment. An experiment he was about to bend over and fuck. Jim felt clumsy, pulling his clothing off with a lot less sexual prowess and a lot more overeager fumbling, but the outcome was at least the same.

He didn’t fidget when Spock stepped back to get a better view, even when his eyes lingered over the upward curve of Jim’s cock like a caress, before sliding lower to catalog his thighs, his knees, his calves. By the time Spock’s eyes began its journey back up to Jim’s face, Jim’s breath was coming out in short, shallow pants and he was harder than he’d ever been in his life.

Jim squeezed his eyes shut and took a slow, deep breath, releasing it through his nose. “If you don’t stop looking like that I’m gonna come way too fast.”

“I do not mind.”

“Spock,” Jim groaned. “Come _here_.”

In two steps Spock was on Jim, still fully clothed--which was just not _right_ \--hands coming up to grab Jim’s bare shoulders. The shock of his touch sent a whole new bolt of electricity down Jim’s spine. Still he didn’t kiss Jim, even though Jim’s head tilted back on its own accord, just continued to stared down at him as if he was drinking him in.

“Like what you see?” Jim asked, smirking cockily even though all he wanted to do was climb all over Spock.

“Yes,” Spock breathed.

Jim groaned and twisted his hands into Spock’s shirt, yanking him forward until they were finally kissing, lips pressed so hard together that their teeth clacked once before Spock reached up to cup Jim’s face and took control.

From the connection, Jim could feel that despite his outward calm, a sort of primal lust roiled like a storm just beneath the surface. Jim shuddered and pulled back for just long enough to gasp, “ _Please_ ,” which caused Spock to growl in response, which was the hottest thing fucking _ever_. Spock shouldered off his cadet shirt as Jim scrabbled at the hooks of his pants. They both froze when Jim’s knuckles brushed against the hard line of Spock’s dick through his pants. Jim released one hand from the clasp to cup Spock, watching in fascination as his hips rolled forward to meet Jim’s touch.

“ _God_ ,” Jim almost whimpered (totally whimpered). “I need you to fuck me. Now.”

There was that growl again. Jim shivered as Spock shoved him down onto the bed, tearing off the rest of his clothing so roughly that a button went pinging across the room. Jim greedily grabbed at Spock’s hips, noting just how beautiful his cock was before sucking him down, conducting his own observations with his tongue. Spock clearly hadn’t expected this; his knees buckled and his hands flew up to brace himself on Jim’s shoulders. 

“Jim,” Spock growled, voice rumbling deep within his chest. One hand tangled into his hair and he pulled Jim back, looking down into his eyes. “I will have you now.”

“ _Yes_.”

Spock pressed him down onto the bed and crawled between his legs, hands spreading Jim’s knees. Jim scrambled through his nightstand until he found the lube and condoms, practically flinging them at Spock in his haste. In contrast, Spock's own movements were tightly controlled as he prepared Jim, sliding his fingers in deep until Jim was writhing and cursing beneath him. 

"Yeah, Spock," Jim groaned. "That's good. You're so good. Come on, I need you to fuck me."

Despite his demands, he still protested when Spock withdrew his fingers, scrabbling at Spock’s left arm to try and pull him back in. Spock reached up with his right hand to caress the side of Jim’s face. His fingers lingered for long enough on the side of Jim’s face that some of haze of lust faded and he blinked curiously. Before he could ask, Spock forced his hand back down and lifted Jim by the hips, thrusting into him with one smooth slide. Jim’s back arched as he cried out.

It was like being filled by the sun.

It was too much. It wasn’t enough. Spock was brutally exact, lighting Jim up with each snap of his hips. His world was narrowed to the point where their bodies connected. Jim flung his hands back to grab the headboard, writhing beneath Spock’s bruising grip. Spock released one of Jim’s hips to wrap his lube-slick hand around Jim’s cock and Jim jolted up, cursing and pleading with each thrust until his world went nova.

Spock’s own eyes widened and the roll of his hips became less controlled, more ragged. He bowed over Jim, letting him go to brace his hands by Jim’s head and folding him so that his knees were pressed against his own chest.

“Spock,” Jim babbled, voice cracked. “Yeah, Spock, love you, God, love you so much--” 

Spock grimaced as if he were being torn apart and he thrust into Jim once, twice, before burying himself so deeply that there was no space between their sweat-slick skin, and coming with a harsh, bit out word in Vulcan.

Spock allowed himself only a handful of minutes to enjoy the afterglow, all but crushing Jim with his dense Vulcan weight in the process, before getting up to clean himself off and grab a damp towel for Jim. But then, to Jim’s delight, he crawled right back into the bed and slung an arm over Jim’s chest.

So maybe he was a little cuddly, after all.

“Hey, Spock?” Jim asked, after several quiet minutes of playing with Spock’s hair.

“Hm?” Spock hummed in response, which made Jim grin. _He_ made the great Vulcan speechless.

“Were you going to meld with me earlier?”

Spock didn’t answer for a moment, pressing his face against Jim’s neck. “It is an act that is usually reserved for bonded couples.”

“Oh,” Jim said. ‘Bonding’ sounded pretty permanent. Jim didn’t have very many permanent relationships--even the connection he had with his family members tended to be transient--but even now, even this early into their relationship, Jim knew that what he had with Spock was ‘pretty permanent.’

“Let’s do it next time.”

Spock lifted his head to look down at Jim, eyebrows drawn slightly together. His hair was mussed from where Jim had been playing with it. Jim smiled and reached up to flatten it back down.

“There is a certain--risk to it.”

“What type of risk?”

“We are highly compatible,” Spock said, which made Jim grin hugely, in spite of Spock’s slight frown. “It is likely that if we were to meld during an--act of passion--”

“Act of passion,” Jim repeated, cheeks hurting from the force of his grin. Spock’s eyebrows drew lower.

“--a preliminary bond will spontaneously form.”

“Ah,” Jim said. “Okay.”

“‘Okay’?” Spock repeated, eyebrows winging up.

Jim shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like such a risk to me.”

“The likelihood of a bond forming is seventy-three point five percent.”

“What I mean to say is that it’s a risk I’d happily take.”

Spock stared down at him with something close to wonder. “You are aware that a preliminary bond is akin to a human marital engagement, if stronger?”

“I figured,” Jim said, reaching down to take Spock’s hand. “What I’m saying is, let’s do it. If we’re so compatible that a bond forms, well.” He squeezed Spock’s hand, channeling his love and acceptance. Spock dropped his head back down.

“I am amenable,” Spock said, and Jim smiled.

* * *

  
**EPILOGUE**  
_TWO YEARS AND ELEVEN MONTHS LATER_  


“Spock,” newly promoted Fleet Captain Pike said, smiling brightly when Spock entered his office. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“It has come to my attention that it is customary to offer congratulations when an associate has received a promotion,” Spock said, offering a ta’al.

“Thank you, that’s very kind,” Pike said. “Please, sit.”

Spock sat across from Pike, abruptly conscious of another time they sat in this office, two years and eleven months ago. Pike seemed to have a similar thought, because his smile turned wry and he said, “What did I tell you? You really should have never listened to him.”

Spock gave this the consideration it deserved and said, honestly, “In doing so, my life would have been much less gratifying.”

Pike’s eyes crinkled with smug amusement. “Yes, I believe so. Perhaps calmer, but I’m not sure that would have suited you.”

Spock briefly reflected on the past two years and decided that Pike was correct: had he not met Jim, his life would have been far calmer, and far more mundane. No less successful, but--duller. Less fulfilling. 

He lowered his eyebrows, suddenly suspicious. Was it possible that Pike had been aware of this, all along? He had always been curious as to why he and Jim had been assigned as roommates--not just for the first year, but all subsequent years--and was starting to suspect that Pike had orchestrated their cohabitation from the very beginning.

“Why did you assign me to share a room with Jim?”

“Figured me out, did you?” Pike asked, with a grin. “For purely selfish reasons, son. Jim’s always been a wild card. He could be the best thing that happens to the Federation, or the worst. We thought to better our odds by introducing a stabilizing influence in his life.” Pike waved a hand at Spock to indicate just who the stabilizing influence was.

“I see. So you sought to use me to, as human would put it, ‘reign in’ Jim.”

“Well, not for just that,” said Pike, lips quirking at Spock using a human colloquialism. “Starfleet Command was also concerned about a young Vulcan integrating into the Academy. What’s a better introduction to humanity than to make you bunk with the epitome of it?”

“Unorthodox tactics, but effective,” Spock was forced to admit after a beat of silence.

“Yep,” Pike said, sounding particularly smug. “And now look where we are--two of our most promising graduates assigned to one of the twelve _Constitution_ -class starships. I would count that as a success.”

“Indeed,” Spock said, lifting an eyebrow. He would be more put out by the heavy handed manipulation, had it not had such satisfying results. 

He conversed with Pike for an additional fifteen point three minutes, recounting his years at Starfleet--the successful peace mission at Axanar and Jim’s part in it and his subsequent award, the unbeatable (save that one time) _Kobayashi Maru_ , the classes Spock taught--before Pike had to cut the meeting short for a lunch appointment.

As Spock walked out of Pike’s office, he turned inward to momentarily feel his preliminary bond. In spite of it being two point one years since its initial spontaneous formation, the response remained the same: a startled burst of delight at feeling Spock, followed by a joyous barrage of love and affection.

The cadets milling in the halls faltered when they passed by, surprised by the small, private smile on the usually stoic Vulcan’s face. What, he heard them whisper, could make a walking computer happy?

Spock clasped his hands behind his back and walked towards the exit, to the bright San Francisco sunlight, where he knew he would find Captain James T. Kirk waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve removed most notes from previous chapters for a smoother reading experience. As I mentioned in the previous chapter, I may write side stories to this universe. I will add them as ‘related works.’
> 
> This chapter was very loosely influenced by the TOS episode “Where No Man Has Gone Before.” I’ve taken some liberties with espers -- in the original series, even humans with high esper ratings had no psionic abilities. Gary and Elizabeth could only access their psionic abilities when they were struck by an electric charge. That’s not so in this universe. 
> 
> And, as always, thank you so much for taking the time to read my little story. All your comments and kudos are hugely appreciated! \o/


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